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OF  CALIFORNIA 

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BOOKS  FOR  FAMILY  READING, 

Published  by  D.  Appleton  fy  Company. 

MRS.  ELLIS'S  NEW  WORKS. 

i. 
SOCIAL  DISTINCTIONS ;  OR,  HEARTS  AND  HOMES. 

By  MRS.  ELLIS,  Author  of  "  The  Women  of  England  "  &o. 

'This  worn  should  find  a  place  in  every  family ;  it  is  one  of  the  best  productions  of  thh 
exoellint  writer,  full  of  deep  and  touching  interest,  and  urging  lessons  of  great  practical  is*- 
QOfUnce." 

II. 

PREVENTION  BETTER  THAN  CURE; 

OR     THE   MORAL   WANTS   OF   THE   WORLD   WE  LIVE  IN. 

By  MRS.  ELLIS.     1  vol.  12mo.    Price  50  cts.  paper  cover,  75  cts  cloth. 
"  We  can  safely  recommend  the  book  to  mothers  and  daughters  who  would  prize  useful  liinU 
OB  the  conduct  of  life,  and  practical  directions  for  self-management." — Christian  Enquirer 

MISS  M'INTOSH'S  WORKS. 

i. 
CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

JY  MARIA  J.  M'INTOSH,  Author  of  "  Conquest  and  Self  Conquest,"  "  Praise  and  Prin 
eiple,"  &c.  Complete  in  one  handsome  volume,  12mo.,  cloth  $1  ;  or  in  two  parti,  paper,  75  ct*. 

This  work  will  be  found  one  of  the  most  impressive  and  beautiful  tales  of  the  daj.  The 
Moral  is  felicitously  developed,  and  is  true  in  thought  and  feeling. 

II. 

TWO  LIVES ;  OR,  TO  SEEM  AND  TO  BE. 

By  MARIA  J.  M'INTOSH.  1  vol.  12mo.,  paper  cover  50  cts.,  cloth  75  cts. 
"  The  previous  works  of  Miss  M'Intosh,  although  issued  anonymously,  have  been  popnlai 
In  the  best  sense  of  the  word.  The  simple  beauty  of  her  narratives,  combining  pure  sentiment 
with  high  p.  •'ciple,  and  noble  views  of  life  and  its  duties,  ought  to  win  for  them  a  hearing  at 
•very  fireside  in  jur  land.  We  have  rarely  perused  a  tale  more  interesting  and  instructive  thaa 
the  one  before  us,  and  we  commend  it  most  cordially  to  the  attention  of  all  our  readers." — Prat. 
Churchman. 

III. 

AUNT  KITTY'S  TALES. 

By  MARIA  J.  MTsrosn.     A  new  edition,  complete  in  one  vol.,  12mo.,  cloth  75  cts. 
This  volume  contains  the  following  interesting  stories  :  "  Blind  Alice,"  "  Jessie  Graham,' 
"Florence  Amott,"  "  Grace  and  Clara,"  "  Ellen  Leslie,  or  The  Reward  of  Self-Control." 


MISS  SEWELL'S  WORKS. 

i. 
MARGARET  PERCIVAL :  A  TALE. 

Edited  by  the  Rov.  WM.  SEWELL,  B.  A     2  voU.,  12mo.,  paper  cover  $1,  cloth  $1  50 

II. 

GERTRUDE :   A  TALE. 

Edited  by  Jie  Rev.  WM.  SEWBLL,  B.  A     12mo.,  cloth  75  ct»,  paper  corer  50  eU. 
III. 

AMY  HERBERT:   A  TALE. 

Edited  by  the  Rev.  WM.  SEWELL,  B.  A.    1  vol.  12mo.,  cloth  75  cts,  paper  cover  50  eta. 

IV. 

LANETON  PARSONAGE :  A  TALE. 

EiJte*  by  the  Rer.  WM.  SBWELL,  B.  A.    3  vols.   12mo.,  cloth  82  25  paper  cover  $150. 


i]N TERESfflNG  BOOKS  FOE  LADIES 

Published  by  D.  Appleton  4-  Company. 

ELLEN   MIDDLETON ; 

A    TALE. 

BY  LADY   GEORGIANA   FULLERTOK. 

One  volume  12mo.,  paper  cover  50  c.,  cloth  75  0. 

BY  THE  SAME   AUTHOR, 

GRANTLEY  MANOR; 

A    TALE. 

One  volume  12mo.,  paper  cover  50  cents,  cloth  75  centi. 

Lady  Geofgiana  Fnllerton's  first  appearance  as  a  novelist  rendered  her  famow  it 
•nee.  Ellen  Middleton,  her  first  production,  was  a  powerfully  constructed  story,  mani 
festing  great  ability  in  the  author,  which  Grantley  Manor  fully  confirms.  We  commend 
the  booR  most  cordially." — Evening  Mirror. 

"  The  book  is  an  excellent  one,  and  the  Lady  Georgiana's  style  is  admirable, 
clear,  concise,  glowing,  and  lady-like.     Her  dialogue  and  narrative  likewise  show  great 
•kill  in  perception  and  arrangement." — Boston  Jitlas. 

"  Gramley  Manor  is  the  title  of  an  exceedingly  interesting  volume,  which  we  hare 
read  with  more  than  ordinary  pleasure.  The  style  is  elegant,  the  story,  which  involve! 
a  succession  of  mysteries  and  cross  purpose?,  is  well  developed,  and  the  scene  and  charac 
ter  painting  is  full  of  spirit  and  truth.  The  authoress  is  certainly  a  woman  of  genius, 
which  she  has  used  to  excellent  purpose." — Southern  Literary  Messenger. 

FRIENDS  AND  FORTUNE; 

A    MORAL   TALE. 
BY   ANNE    HARRIET    DRURY. 

One  volume  ]2mo.  paper  cover  50  cents,  cloth  75  cents. 


ry  Gazette. 

"  Life,  motion,  delicacy,  and  humor  are  to  be  founo  in  Miss  Drury's  Tale."— JUk* 
MM. 


GRACE  LESLIE  ; 

A    TALE. 
From  the  last  London  Edition.     One  volume  12mo.,  cloth  75  cents. 

"  Simplicity  is  the  charm  of  this  story.  It  can  scarcely  be  said  to  have  a  plo.  TTi» 
tale  embraces  the  history  of  a  month  in  the  life  of  a  young  girl  suddenly  thrown  into  so 
ciety,  and  for  young  people  it  was  originally  written.  It  has  been  generally  popular, 
however,  for  every  thing  in  it  is  natural.  There  is  neither  sameness  nor  lameness  in  the 
narrative;  the  characters  are  numerous,  and  each  is  kept  distinct.  Moreover,  the  moral 
•f  the  story  is  unexceptionable." — Com.  .Idi-. 

WALTER  LORIMER; 

AND    OTHER    TALES. 
BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "AMY  HERBERT,"  "GERTRUDE,"  ETC. 

Embellished  with  six  colored  Plates.  1  vol.  12mo.,  cloth,  75  cts. 
4  There  is  much  that  is  pure,  tweet  and  touching  in  the  book,  *  *  *    the  stories  aw 
•*«•'"«  '»  «  ttyta  of  composition  which  mafcm  the  work  one  of  high  literary  character." 


NEW    FAMILY    BOOKS. 

Published  by  D.  Appleton  Sf  Company. 


-»- 


MORTON  MONTAGU; 

OR,    A    YOUNG    CHRISTIAN'S    CHOICE. 

A  Narrative  founded  on  facts  in  the  Early  History  of  a  Deceased  Moravian  Missionary 
Clergyman. 

BY   C.   B.   MORTIMER. 

One  neat  volume,  12mo.    Price  75  cents. 

JAMES  MONTJOY; 

OR,     I'VE     BEEN     THINKING. 

ftn  American  Js>tct£. 

BY   A.  S.  ROE. 

Two  volumes,  12mo.    Paper  cover,  75  cents.    Cloth,  61 . 

"We  retain  sufficiently  the  tastes  and  feelings  of  youth  to  be  confident  that  we  do 
not  mistake  those  of  our  young  friends,  when  we  promise  them  much  enjoyment  from 
the  perusal  of  this  book :  and,  judging  from  the  interest  we  have  ourselves  taken  in  its 
pages,  those  of  maiurer  years  will  have  no  occasion  to  regrei  the  time  they  may  devote  to 
it.  It  is  a  capital  story.  American  in  its  character  as  well  as  in  the  location  of  its 
scenes,  and  eminently  calculated  to  impress  upon  the  young  the  obligations  they  are 
under  to  their  parents  and  the  community,  and  the  happiness  and  success  which  attend 
upon  a 'houghtful  adheience  to  industry  and  integrity.  Although  every  "thinking" 
youth  may  not  be  a  James  Montjoy,  yet  his  career,  and  that  of  his  companions,  may 
be  profitably  considered  by  all  who  have  to  depend  upon  their  own  exertions  for  their 
maintenance. 

"The  preface  contains  an  intimation  that  this  is  the  first  production  of  the  author, 
and  he  has  certainly  commenced  his  career  as  a  caterer  for  young  minds  with  a  work 
that  will  compare  favorably  with  the  best  works  of  the  same  class.  A  healthful  moral 
tone  pervades  the  whole,  and,  as  we  have  above  observed,  iho.se  advanced  in  life  will 
enjoy  it,  from  the  comments  upon  life,  manners,  and  opinions,  which  are  scattered 
through  its  pages." — Newark  Daily  Advertiser. 

WOMAN'S  FRIENDSHIP. 
®  Kofcd. 

BY   GRACE    AGUILAR. 

Author  of  "Home  Influence,"  etc. 

One  volume,  12mo.    Paper  cover,  50  cents.    Cloth,  75  cents. 

THE  MODERN  HOUSEWIFE; 

OR,  MANAGERS. 

Comprising  nearly  1000  receipts  for  the  economic  and  judicious  preparation  of  every 
meal  of  the  day,  with  those  of  the  nursery  and  sick  room,  and  minute  directions  for 
family  management  in  all  its  branches,  illustrated  with  engravings,  by  ALEXIS  SOYBR, 
author  of  the  Gastronomic  Regenerator. 

Edited  by  an  AMERICAN  HOUSEKEEPER. 
One  volume,  12mo.    Price  $1. 

This  is  one  of  the  best  books  in  the  art 'of  domestic  management  and  cookery  that 
has  ever  been  published  :  the  author,  M.  Soyer,  the  renowned  chef  de  cuisine  of  th« 
Reform  Club,  enjoys  in  Europe  a  reputation  as  a  scientific  writer  on  the  ethics  and 
aesthetics  of  the  table,  that  no  other  writer  on  kindred  subjects  has  ever  attained  ;  ami 
this,  his  last  and  greatest  work,  the  Modern  Housewife,  though  intended  for  the  me 
ridian  of  London,  is  equally  well  adapted  for  the  use  of  American  families, 


New  Work  by  the  Author  of  "  Home  Influence." 

WOMAN'S     FRIENDSHIP; 

A  TALE  OF  DOMESTIC  LIFE. 

BY  GRACE   AGUILAR, 

AUTHOR   OF   "  HOME   INFLUENCE, "    ETC. 

One  volume,  12mo.     Paper  cover,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  75  cents. 

"  This  is  truly  a  classical  novel.  It  is  a  relief  to  find  now  and  then,  amid 
the  effeminate  and  multiplied  issues  of  the  press  called  novels,  a  really  readable 
and  profitable  work,  like  the  present.  Here  are  the  most  wholesome  truths 
and  the  most  sage  maxims,  expressed  in  a  beautiful  style.  The  genuine  spirit 
of  poetry  mingles  with  and  adorns  the  most  practical  good  sense.  Every  lady 
and  every  gentleman,  young  or  old,  will  be  amply  rewarded  with  the  perusal 
of  this  work.  If  we  mistake  not,  you  will  read  it  a  second  time." — Middle- 
town  Oasis. 

"  This  is  a  fictitious  narrative,  the  interest  of  which  is  well  sustained,  and 
the  moral  of  which  is  unimpeachable.  The  purest  sentiment  pervades  the 
story,  and  some  of  the  characters  are  highly  finished  portraits.  The  book  will 
be  a  favorite." — Commercial  Advertiser. 

"  This  volume  belongs  to  that  excellent  class  of  fictitious  narratives  Which 
are  designed  to  portray  the  virtues  of  the  heart  in  their  highest  cultivation. 
The  story  is  told  with  a  thrilling  interest.  The  writer  is  already  known  to  the 
public  for  the  felicity  and  power  of  her  pen." — Courier  and  Enquirer. 


New  American  Work. 

MORTON  MONTAGU; 

OR, 

A    YOUNG    CHRISTIAN'S    CHOICE. 

A  NARRATIVE  FOUNDED  ON  FACTS  IN  THE  EARLY  HISTORY  OF  A  DE 
CEASED  MORAVIAN  MISSIONARY  CLERGYMAN. 

BY  C.  B.  MORTIMER. 

One  volume,  12/no,  cloth,  75  cents. 

"  This  story  is  one  of  great  simplicity,  though  of  deep  and  absorbing  inte, 
rest.  It  opens  upon  you  in  a  quiet,  unobtrusive  manner,  and  you  are  led  along 
from  step  to  step,  amid  such  lifelike  scenes,  and  among  persons  of  such  variety 
of  character,  that  your  feelings  are  at  once  enlisted  and  carried  captive  through 
the  whole  story." — Observer. 

"  This  is  a  simple  story  of  a  beautiful  character,  devoted,  earnest  and  en 
thusiastic,  of  one  who  became  perfect  through  suffering.  Though  draped  in 
the  thin  veil  of  fictitious  names,  it  will  be  recognized  as  the  early  biography 
of  a  man  well  known  for  his  labors  among  the  North  American  Indians,  and 
subsequently  as  the  pastor  of  a  Moravian  congregation  in  New- York. 

"  The  author  of  the  work  has  evidently  performed  a  labor  of  love ;  and 
though  its  style  is  without  ornament,  and  the  story  without  romance  yet  it 
cannot  be  read  without  interest. 

"  Many  of  the  customs  of  the  Moravians,  beautiful  in  their  simplicity,  a 
bnei  history  of  the  ancient  order  of  « United  Brethren,'  known  in  history  as 
Vallenses,  Albigenses,  Vaudois,  and  Waldenses,  are  given,  greatly  enhancing 
the  value  of  the  volume."— Chicago  Journal. 


JAMES  MOITJOY: 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING 


BY 


A.    S.    ROE. 


NEW-YORK : 
D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY,  200  BROADWAY 

PHILADELPHIA  : 

GEO.  &  APPLETON,  164  CHESNUT-STREET. 
M.DCCC.L. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1*19,  by 
D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New- York. 


S 


PREFACE. 


I  WAS  once  present  at  a  conversation  between  a  goodly 
couple  in  the  old  New  England  time,  touching  the  fate  of 
one  of  their  sons  just  sent  abroad  ;  he  was  a  pet  boy,  at  least 
with  the  old  lady. 

"  I  wish,  my  dear,  that  you  would  write  to  the  firm  of 
( What  do  you  call  'em '  a  very  particular  letter  about  our 
Bill,  and  let  them  know  just  what  he  is ;  for  going  so  among 
strangers,  the  poor  child  may  have  rough  treatment,  merely 
because  they  don't  know  his  ways." 

"  I  don't  think  it  will  do  any  good." 

"  Why  not,  Mr.  Blossom  ?  Surely  if  the  folks  knew 
how  many  good  things  he  has  about  him,  they  would  be  a 
little  tender  of  him,  and  not  treat  him  as  though  he  were  a 
common  boy." 

"  He  must  take  his  kicks  and  cuffs  with  the  rest  of  the 
boys." 

«  Now,  Mr.  Blossom  !" 

"  It  is  just  so,  wife ;  and  all  the  letters  in  the  world 
won't  alter  the  matter.  He's  got  to  go  through  the  mill, 
and  his  good  and  his  bad  will  be  known,  without  our 
meddling." 


Vlll  PREFACE. 

"Well,  I  most  wish  we  had  kept  him  to  home." 

"  He  would  only  become  rusty  here.  No,  no  ;  let  him 
take  his  chance  ;  he  has  gone  where  he  must '  sink  or  swim' 
by  his  own  merits." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  what  a  world  it  is  !" 

"  Yes,  it  is,  wife  ;  but  we  can't  help  it." 

In  sending  abroad  my  first-begotten,  I  was  almost 
tempted  to  endeavor  to  smooth  its  way  with  the  public,  by 
explaining  its  peculiarities,  and  asking  indulgence  for  its 
failings ;  but  I  called  to  mind  what  Mr.  Blossom  said  about 
his  Bill,  and  so  quietly  submit  to  the  decree,  that  it  must 
"  sink  or  swim  by  its  own  merits." 

A.  S.  B. 


JAMES  MONT  JOY; 


OR, 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  WHERE  is  the  use,  Jim,  of  our  working  and  working 
to  raise  so  many  vegetables  ?  we  never  can  use  them  all ;  Ma 
said,  last  year,  there  was  no  necessity  for  raising  more  than 
we  could  eat,  and  now  this  potato  patch  is  larger  than  ever." 
And  as  he  said  this,  the  little  speaker  threw  himself  upon  the 
soft  ground,  struck  his  hoe  into  the  soil,  and  looked  up  at  his 
brother  to  see  how  he  would  take  it. 

Jim,  as  he  was  called,  rested  a  moment  on  his  hoe,  eyed 
his  brother  closely,  and  then,  with  something  of  a  smile,  re 
plied  : 

"  Come,  Ned,  don't  give  up  to  lazy  feelings,  the  things 
will  do  somebody  good ;  and  you  know  Pa  always  told  us, 
that  it  was  better  to  be  at  work,  even  if  we  got  no  pay  for  it ; 
and  besides,  I  have  been  thinking  of  a  plan  by  which  we 
may  do  something  with  what  we  raise,  if  we  have  more  than 
we  can  use." 

"  What  plan,  Jim  ?"  and  Ned  raised  himself  from  his 
prostrate  position,  and  sitting  with  both  hands  resting  on  the 
ground,  looked  very  inquiringly  at  his  brother. 

"  Why,  suppose  we  should  try  to  sell  some  of  the  things 
we  raise  ?" 

"  Try  to  sell,  Jim  ?  ha  ha  ha  !"  and  the  little  fellow  threw 
himself  upon  the  ground  and  indulged  in  a  hearty  fit  of 
laughter ;  Jim  laughed  a  little  himself,  resuming  his  work 
and  hauling  the  dirt  up  faster  around  the  potatoes  he  was 
hilling. 


10  JAMES    MONTJOY  j     OR, 

"  Come,  Ned,  yon  had  better  go  to  work ;  the  sun  will  soon 
be  down,  and  we  shall  not  get  our  task  done." 

"  Well,  tell  me  then  wJtere  you  are  going  to  sell  the  things  ? 
that's  all." 

"  I  shall  say  no  more  about  it  now.  at  any  rate ;  you  will 
only  laugh  at  it ;  so  come,  take  up  your  row." 

"  Ned,  perceiving  that  Jim  was  working  upon  both  rows, 
was  ashamed  to  waste  any  more  time,  and  inspirited  by  hia 
brother's  kindness,  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  the  two  boys 
worked  away  with  alacrity. 

The  sun  had  gone  down,  the  cow  had  been  milked  and 
the  pigs  fed,  the  hens  had  all  gone  to  roost,  and  the  two 
brothers  had  sauntered  towards  the  river  which  ran  before 
their  dwelling  and  taken  a  seat  together  on  a  rock  under  the 
branches  of  a  huge  oak,  of  which  there  were  several  around 
the  premises.  Before  them  lay.  first,  a  gentle  slope  of  short 
greensward,  part  of  what  was  known  as  the  town  commons, 
where  every  body's  cow,  or  pig,  or  goose,  could  roam  unmolest 
ed  ;  beyond  this,  lay  a  smooth  sandy  shore,  washed  by  a 
river,  whose  waters  had  not  far  to  go  before  they  mingled 
with  the  ocean,  or  with  a  large  arm  of  the  ocean ;  along  the 
shore,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  was  the  same  or 'nearly 
the  same  strip  of  green  commons,  dotted  here  and  there  with 
small  rude  dwellings,  the  abodes  of  a  few  fishermen  who  ex 
isted  on  the  products  of  the  river  that  rolled  before  them ; 
a  few  small  boats  lay  drawn  up  on  the  shore,  and  occasionally 
a  row  of  stakes  running  out  into  the  water,  told  where  the  fish 
ermen  had  planted  their  nets.  The  only  house  in  sight  that 
had  any  appearance  of  comfort  was  the  one  these  brothers 
called  their  home;  a  plain  one-story  building  with  a  little 
wing  to  it ;  a  paling  ran  in  front  and  around  three  sides,  in 
closing  the  patch  of  ground  used  as  their  garden  ;  a  few  fine 
old  trees  threw  their  shadows  over  and  around  the  premises, 
adding  much  to  the  domestic  aspect  of  the  place  ;  a  pleasant 
country  spread  back  from  the  river,  and  in  the  distance  could 
be  seen  here  and  there  the  chimney  top  or  the  peaked  roof 
of  some  obscure  dwelling,  making  no  greater  pretensions 
than  those  described. 

"  I  wonder  what  Sam  Oakum  is  doing  along  shore  there  ?" 

«  Where,  Jim  ?" 

"  Down  by  that  clump  of  rocks  ;  don't  you  see  him  ?" 

u  Oh,  he  is  picking  up  horse-shoes ;  he  has  not  fed  his  piga 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKTNC?.  H 

yet ;  I  suppose  his  father  is  drunk  to-day,  and  the  pigs  are 
squealing,  and  Sam  has  gone  to  look  for  something  for  them 
to  eat ;  poor  fellow." 

"  Sain  is  a  clever  fellow ;  I  do  wish  his  father  would  act 
differently  ;  I  cannot  see  what  is  to  become  of  him.  They  who 
have  no  father  are  bad  enough  off,  but  I  think  poor  Sam 
is  worse  off  still." 

"  Do  you  think,  Jim,  if  father  had  lived,  that  we  should 
have  stayed  here?" 

"I  cannot  say — I  suppose  we  should :  why  do  you  ask  that 
question,  Ned?" 

"  Because  I  think  it  is  a  poor  place  to  get  a  living  in — 
nor  do  I  see  how  we  are  going  to  get  along  here — it  is  hard 
hoeing  for  it  any  how." 

"  Hard  hoeing  ?  I  don't  think  so,  Ned ;  it  is  a  great  deal 
harder  doing  nothing." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  ;  I  should  like  to  try  it  once,  and  see." 

"  I  believe  it  to  be  true  what  father  often  said,  that  '  hard 
work  made  short  nights  and  sweet  food,'  and  if  we  should 
give  up  work,  what  would  become  of  mother  and  Ellen  ?" 

"  I  will  work  for  them,  Jim,  as  long  as  I  have  got  any 
fingers  to  work  with,  but  we  may  hoe  and  hoe  here  all  our  lives, 
and  what  will  it  amount  to  ?" 

"  I  have  been  thinking  a  great  deal  about  that,  Ned,  and 
therefore  I  spoke  to  you  as  I  did  to-day  when  you  laughed 
so  at  me." 

"  Well,  tell  me  now,  Jim ;  I  promise  you  I  will  not  laugh 
any  more." 

"  I  have  been  thinking  for  some  time,  just  as  you  say,  Ned, 
1  that  we  must  hoe  and  hoe  all  our  lives,'  and  without  much 
hope  of  making  our  condition  any  better." 

"  Why  you  see,  Jim,  if  there  was  any  one  here  to  buy 
what  we  raised,  more  than  we  wanted  to  eat,  there  would  be 
some  use  in  raising  all  we  could." 

"  I  know  it,  Ned  ;  and  the  great  trouble  is,  that  the  folks  all 
round  here  are  as  poor  as  we  are,  and  the  most  of  them  not 
so  well  off;  they  live  from  hand  to  mouth,  and  would  never 
want  any  thing  we  could  raise." 

"  Why,  I  suppose  they  would  like  our  strawberries  and 
peaches  well  enough,  if  we  would  give  them  away ;  but  they 
will  never  take  the  trouble  to  raise  any  for  themselves,  and 
I  am  very  sure  they  will  never  have  any  money  to  buy  them 
with." 


.2  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OB., 

"  That  is  it,  Ned  ;  you  are  right  now.  Father  has  taught 
us  to  raise  such  things,  you  know,  and  if  we  had  any  way 
to  dispose  of  them,  we  could  raise  many  more  than  we  do." 

"Then  you  would  see  how  I  could  ;work,  Jim,  and  we 
would  stuff  the  old  garden  full  of  every  thing." 

"  I  have  been  thinking — now  you  won't  laugh  again  ?" 

"  No,  I  won't,  I  promise  you." 

"  Well,  I  have  been  thinking, — you  know,  just  over  the 
other  side  of  the  island  is  that  large  fort ;  sometimes  there 
is  quite  a  company  of  soldiers,  and  always  some  officers  and 
their  families ;  the  grounds  about  there  are  so  rocky  and 
sandy,  that  they  cannot  raise  any  thing  if  they  would  ;  they 
no  doubt  get  their  provisions  in  large  quantities  from  a  dis 
tance,  but  the  officers  and  their  families  might  like  many  of 
the  luxuries  of  our  garden,  as  we  could  supply  them  fresh ; 
the  only  thing  is,  how  to  get  there  ?" 

"  Yes,  Jim,  that  would  be  the  trouble ;  we  have  no  boat, 
and  we  should  not  know  how  to  manage  one  if  we  had  it,  and 
mother  would  be  so  afraid  to  let  us  go  such  a  distance  on  the 
water." 

"  I  have  thought  of  these  difficulties,  Ned,  but  I  believe 
we  can  get  along  with  them.  I  know  it  will  be  difficult  get 
ting  to  the  fort  sometimes,  in  rough  weather ;  and  then  as 
you  say  we  have  no  boat,  and  we  should  not  be  able  to  man 
age  one  if  we  had  it ;  but  how  would  it  do  to  ask  Sam  Oak 
um  to  join  us  ?" 

"  Sam  Oakum  is  the  very  fellow,  just  the  very  fellow ; 
but  stop,  Jim,  Sam  has  not  got  a  boat." 

"  I  know  that,  but  no  doubt  he  can  borrow  one  for  the 
first  trip,  and  then,  if  our  plan  should  succeed,  perhaps  we 
could  hire  it  until  we  were  able  to  buy  one  for  ourselves." 

Ned  could  stand  it  no  longer ;  he  jumped  from  the  rock, 
clapped  his  hands,  huzzaed,  caught  hold  of  Jowler,  who  had 
sprung  up  and  was  barking  away  in  answer  to  Ned's  huzza, 
and  down  they  went  on  the  green-sward  together. 

"  Don't  go  crazy,  Ned,  we  may  be  disappointed  after  all ; 
mother  may  not  give  her  consent,  Sam  may  be  unwilling  to 
go,  or  not  able  to  get  a  boat." 

"  Do  stop,  Jim,  bringing  up  difficulties ;  I  don't  want  to 
hear  them  now.  I  know  mother  will  let  us  go,  and  I  know 
Sam  will  like  dearly  to  join  us  ;  he  can  get  a  boat,  I  am  sure 
he  can." 


I'VE   BEEN    THINKING.  13 

"  Well,  Ned,  the  first  thing  we  must  do  is,  to  get  mother's 
consent " 

"  Yes,  and  you  will  speak  to  her  this  very  night,  won't 
you,  Jim  1  I  will  put  in  a  word  once  in  a  while  just  to  help 
along." 

Twilight  was  past ;  the  stars  were  shining  through  a  clear 
bright  sky,  when  these  two  brothers  retraced  their  steps  to 
wards  home ;  it  is  pleasant  to  see  them  so  cheerfully  com 
plying  with  that  command,  "  Honor  thy  father  and  thy 
mother,  that  thy  days  may  be  long  in  the  land  which  the 
Lord  thy  God  giveth  thee." 

And  now  I  suppose  my  readers  may  be  anxious  to  know 
some  particulars  about  our  boys,  and  the  place  where  they 
lived. 

Their  father,  Mr.  James  Montjoy,  who  had  died  a  few 
months  before  the  period  at  which  our  story  commences,  was 
rather  a  plain  man  in  his  appearance  and  manners,  and  lived 
on  a  small  pension,  just  enough  to  sustain  his  family,  so  that 
he  left  nothing  for  their  support  but  the  house  and  garden 
spot.  I  think  he  must  have  been  a  good  man,  for  his  boys 
revered  his  name,  and  often  repeated  his  sayings  to  each 
other,  and  on  no  account  would  they  deviate  from  what  they 
believed  would  have  been  his  will. 

As  to  the  place  where  they  lived,  I  have  already  partly 
described  it ;  it  was  a  very  retired  spot,  a  few  farm-houses 
were  scattered  about,  at  irregular  intervals,  but  all  wearing 
the  same  general  aspect :  a  want  of  enterprise  was  manifest 
on  every  side ;  poor  roads,  poor  fences,  broken  barns,  patched 
windows  in  almost  every  house,  miserable-looking  wagons 
and  horses,  and  people  in  appearance  as  uncouth  and  wo- 
begone  as  their  teams. 

There  was  but  one  store  in  the  place,  and  how  that  was 
supplied  was  somewhat  mysterious ;  for  no  boats  sailed  from 
or  to  this  lone  spot.  I  have  heard  that  once  in  a  year  a  large 
lumber  wagon  that  came  from  a  distance  brought  a  load  of 
casks  and  boxes  which  contained  all  the  goods  necessary  to 
supply  the  few  wants  of  its  customers,  a  little  tea  and  sugar 
and  molasses,  and  a  few  coarse  dry  goods,  with  an  undue  pro 
portion  of  whiskey.  The  storekeeper  looked  no  better  than 
his  customers ;  he  was  a  dried-up,  wrinkled  little  man,  with 
a  very  red  nose ;  always  clad  in  a  suit  of  gray  clothes,  with  a 
broad-brimmed,  greasy  hat,  turned  up  in  front,  and  a  pair  of 


14  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

iron  spectacles,  through  which  stared  two  very  large  eyeSj 
somewhat  the  worse  for  the  use  of  cider  and  whiskey. 

The  store  itself  was  a  long,  low,  tumble-down-looking 
place,  with  a  shed  running  along  its  front,  under  which  might 
almost  always  be  seen  a  certain  number  of  miserably  dressed 
persons,  the  customers  of  the  store. 

It  will  be  of  no  use  to  any  of  my  readers  to  be  told  the 
real  name  of  this  place,  nor  its  exact  locality ;  I  have  men 
tioned  that  it  was  on  a  river,  and  not  far  from  where  that 
river  emptied  itself  into  a  sound  or  arm  of  the  sea ;  but  as 
there  are  a  great  many  rivers  and  sounds  in  our  beautiful 
country,  I  must  leave  you  all  to  guess  the  right  one — and 
perhaps  many  of  you  will  pass  this  place,  or  have  already 
passed  it,  many  times,  and  when  you  have  seen  or  shall  see 
the  beautiful  church  spire  that  now  rises  from  the  midst  of 
the  trees  which  embower  it,  and  the  neat  white  houses  along 
the  shore,  and  the  trim  vessels  that  line  the  wharves,  and  hear 
the  lively  Yo  heave  yo !  of  the  sailors,  as  they  hoist  the 
white  sail  to  the  breeze,  you  will  little  dream  that  it  was  once 
as  I  have  described  it. 

And  now  we  must  see  how  master  Jim  gets  along  in 
gaining  the  consent  of  his  mother. 

Mrs.  Montjoy  was  a  good  mother,  and  loved  her  three 
children  most  tenderly ;  but  as  all  mothers  who  truly  love 
their  children  must  sometimes  deny  their  wishes,  Jim  and 
Ned  had  learned  some  lessons  which  made  them  feel  less  and 
less  confident  the  more  they  thought  of  the  matter.  At  length 
the  former,  taking  up  the  candle,  whispered  to  his  brother, 

"  Perhaps,  Ned,  we  had  better  not  say  any  thing  about 
it  until  to-morrow." 

"  I  think  so  too,  Jim." 

So,  kissing  their  mother  and  little  Ellen,  up  they  went 
to  their  garret  room,  talking  and  laughing  in  great  spirits. 

"The  poor  dear  children,"  thought  Mrs.  Montjoy,  "it 
makes  my  heart  ache  to  hear  them ;  they  think  not  of  the 
future.  May  God  in  his  mercy  open  some  way,  for  I  see  but 
a  poor  prospect  before  them."  And  it  may  be  that  prayer 
was  heard,  and  the  God  of  the  widow  and  the  fatherless  was 
preparing  the  means  by  which  these  unprotected  children 
would  prove  the  light  of  their  native  place  and  her  stay  and 
comfort.  Had  she  seen  them  as  they  knelt  down  by  the  bed 
side  together,  she  would  have  felt  that  her  children  were  not 
fatherless. 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING. 


15 


The  next  morning  the  boys  had  a  long  conference  with 
their  mother,  and  after  she  had  listened  to  their  plans,  and 
stated  to  them  more  particularly  than  she  had  ever  before 
done,  the  straitened  circumstances  to  which  they  were  reduced, 
and  expressed  many  fears  on  account  of  their  exposure  on 
the  water,  she  finally  agreed  that  they  might  try  what  they 
could  do. 

No  sooner  had  they  reached  the  door,  after  thus  accom 
plishing  their  wishes,  than  Ned  started  on  the  full  run, 
jumped  over  the  first  thing  that  stood  in  his  way — which  hap 
pened  to  be  old  Jowler — caught  up  his  hoe  from  under  the 
shed,  and  entering  the  garden  by  a  cross  cut,  began  tearing 
the  dirt  around  the  potato  hills  with  all  his  might. 

Jim  walked  very  leisurely  to  his  work,  and  for  some  time 
permitted  his  brother  to  go  on,  thinking  that  he  would  soon 
become  tired,  and  relax  his  efforts ;  but  seeing  that  Ned  was 
coming  back  on  his  row, 

"  You  had  better  keep  your  own  row,  Ned  ;  I  shall  get 
along  soon  enough  with  mine,  and  you  will  only  tire  yourself 
by  working  so  fast." 

"  We*ll,  I  am  in  such  a  hurry,  Jim  ;  I  want  to  get  these 
potato  hills  finished,  so  that  we  can  go  and  talk  with  Sam 
Oakum  about  the  boat." 

"  I  am  as  much  in  a  hurry  as  you  are,  Ned,  but  we  have 
quite  a  patch  to  hill  yet,  and  we  shall  get  through  sooner,  by 
working  steadily,  besides  doing  our  work  better ;  we  can  get 
along  with  them  by  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  and  that 
will  give  us  time  enough  to  see  Sam." 

And  as  Jim  had  said,  by  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the 
lash  hill  of  potatoes  was  finished,  and  having  made  all  their 
arrangements,  and  agreed  upon  all  they  would  say  to  Sam, 
they  had  nothing  to  do  but  go  to  the  tree  where  they  placed 
their  tools,  and  hang  up  their  hoes  for  that  day. 

As  Sam  Oakum  will  be  a  prominent  character  in  our 
story,  I  must  introduce  him  more  particularly  to  my  reader. 
His  father  lived  in  one  of  the  huts  which  I  have  said  were 
scattered  along  the  shore  of  the  river  for  some  distance,  and 
followed  the  occupation  which  his  father  had  followed  before 
him,  that  of  a  fisherman  ;  or,  in  other  words,  that  of  catching 
a  few  fish  or  clams  sufficient  to  satisfy  the  cravings  of  hun 
ger  for  the  day,  and  spending  the  rest  of  it  in  idleness  and 
drinking,  without  enterprise  or  ambition :  as  their  fathers 


16  JAMES  MONT  JOY;   OR, 

had  done  for  generations  back,  so  did  they ;  they  seemed  to 
feel  that  it  was  their  luck  to  be  poor,  and  to  all  appearance 
felt  willing  that  their  children  should  follow  in  their  steps. 

Sam  Oakum's  father  was  rather  a  smarter  man  than  his 
neighbors  :  he  had  some  knowledge  too  of  boat-building  ;  he 
had  never  learned  the  trade,  but  being  ingenious,  could  put 
together  a  small  craft  quite  decently,  and  the  few  poor  boats 
which  the  fishermen  owned  were  the  work  of  his  hands  ;  but 
he  also  exceeded  many  of  his  neighbors  in  the  use  of  strong 
drink,  and  too  frequently  it  was  feared  that  his  wife  and  chil 
dren  suffered  for  the  necessaries  of  life,  because  the  father 
was  away  and  in  no  condition  to  get  home.  For  a  few  years 
past,  however,  since  Sam  had  become  able  to  manage  a  boat, 
he  would  see  that  there  was  food  for  his  mother  and  sisters, 
although  there  had  been  as  yet  no  opening  for  him  by  which 
he  could  do  any  more  than  this.  There  was  no  ground  attached 
to  their  poor  house  for  him  to  cultivate ;  there  was  no  work 
in  the  vicinity  that  he  could  get ;  and  the  boat,  by  means  of 
which  he  could  procure  their  supply  from  the  water,  he  was 
obliged  to  borrow. 

Sam  was  now  about  sixteen  years  of  age ;  a  good-Iboking 
fellow  he  was  too,  although  his  clothes  were  old  and  patched ; 
his  hair  was  black  as  a  coal  and  very  much  disposed  to  curl ; 
he  had  a  good  open  countenance,  very  bright  black  eyes,  and 
a  fine  substantial  nut-brown  complexion.  As  we  shall  learn 
his  character  in  the  progress  of  our  story,  it  will  not  be  ne 
cessary  to  describe  him  any  closer  at  present. 

On  the  day  that  Jim  and  Ned  had  been  so  successful  in 
obtaining  the  consent  of  their  mother  to  put  their  plan  into 
execution,  Sam  had  experienced  a  severe  trial :  his  father 
had  indulged  more  freely  his  dreadful  appetite,  and  although 
in  general  kind  to  his  family,  had  begun  to  manifest  a  morose 
and  sullen  temper. 

Sam's  mother  was  a  good-natured,  inoffensive  woman,  al 
ways  endeavoring  to  make  the  best  of  things,  managing  as 
well  as  she  could  with  what  was  in  the  house,  and  although 
sorely  pinched  sometimes,  never  finding  fault  with  her  hus 
band. 

"  It  would  do  no  good."  she  said,  "  to  be  dinging  at  Oakum, 
it  would  only  make  him  worse." 

So  the  poor  soul  went  on  from  day  to  day,  doing  her  best, 
and  always  hoping,  woman  like,  that  he  would  be  different  one 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  17 

of  these  days  ;  but  on  this  eventful  morning  her  accumulated 
grievances  could  no  longer  be  repressed,  and  as  her  husband 
was  about  to  leave  the  house,  only  to  return  at  evening  in  a 
wretched  condition,  she  ventured  to  say  to  him, 

"  Oakum,  don't  you  think  you'd  better  not  go  up  to  the 
store  to  day  ?" 

"  Don't  I  think  I'd  better  not  ?  No,  I  don't — what  makes 
you  ask  me?" 

"  Oh  well,  I  didn't  mean  no  harm,  only  you  have  been 
away  so  much  lately." 

"  Well,  supposing  I  have,  whose  business  is  tfuzt,  I  want 
to  know  ?" 

"  Why  nobody's,  I  suppose,  only  you  know,  Oakum,  we 
aint  got  nothing  in  the  house  but  them  two  fish  you  brought 
in  this  morning  ;  there  aint  no  meal  nor  nothing." 

"  No  meal  nor  nothing  ;  yes  there  is  meal :  didn't  I  bring 
home  some  yesterday  ?" 

"  Well,  you  know  how  that  was,  the  pigs  got  at  it." 

"  The  pigs  got  at  it — then  why  didn't  you  take  care  of  it, 
and  not  let  the  pigs  get  the  children's  bread  ?" 

"  It  wasn't  Ma's  fault,"  said  Sam,  who  was  by  at  the  time, 
and  knew  all  the  circumstances. 

"  Whose  fault  was  it  then,  you  little  vagabond  ?" 

"  I  aint  a  vagabond  yet,  but  we  shall  all  be  soon,  if  you 
keep  going  to  Grizzle's  every  day." 

Sam's  father  was  utterly  confounded ;  he  took  off  his  hat 
and  sat  down. 

"  What,  are  my  children  going  to  rise  up  against  me  ?  Go 
out  of  the  house,  sir." 

Poor  Mrs.  Oakum  was  in  great  trouble.  Sam  had  said 
what  was  true ;  his  father  had,  in  a  state  of  unconsciousness, 
left  the  flour  at  the  mercy  of  the  pigs;  but  she  felt  sorry  that 
he  had  spoken,  and  Sam  soon  felt  very  sorry  for  it  too  ;  his 
conscience  upbraided  him  ;  he  went  out  of  the  house  and  kept 
busy  as  he  could,  but  he  could  not  feel  happy. 

"  By  little  and  little  Oakum  found  out  from  his  wife,  all 
about  the  meal ;  he  was  thoroughly  ashamed,  asked  for  another 
bag,  and  immediately  took  his  hat  and  departed. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  Sam  sauntered  along 
the  shore  to  a  large  flat  rock  that  stood  just  at  the  water's 
edge.  He  took  a  seat  upon  it,  and  with  his  eye  stretched  far 
over  the  beautiful  bay,  mused  on  his  sad  condition  and  hope- 


18  JAMES   MONTJOY  J     OR, 

less  prospects.  Was  life  to  be  as  it  had  ever  been  ?  a  scene  of 
idleness  and  want,  a  waste,  with  nothing  to  cheer  or  stimu 
late  his  youthful  mind?  without  education  (not  being  able 
even  to  read),  without  a  trade  or  the  prospect  of  one,  or  any 
employment  that  offered  the  least  inducement  to  exertion  ? 
His  conscience  sorely  troubled  him  also  on  account  of  the  dis 
respect  he  had  shown  to  his  father  that  morning ;  and  as  he 
mused,  his  excited  feelings  started  the  tears  down  his  sun* 
burnt  face,  and  in  the  agony  of  the  moment  he  exclaimed, 

"  I  wish  I  was" — 

"  What  do  you  wish  ?"  said  Ned  Montjoy,  as  he  stole  up 
behind,  and  put  his  hands  over  Sam's'eyes. 

"  But  what  is  it,  Sam  ?"  you  are  in  trouble ;  tell  us  right 
away.  Can  Jim  and  I  help  you  ?" 

Sam  wiped  away  his  tears  as  he  best  could,  but  was  un 
able  at  once  to  make  any  reply. 

"  Come,  Sam,  tell  us,  has  any  thing  happened  to  day  ?" 
"  Oh,  nothing  particular,  Ned  ;  only  sometimes  I  get  tired 
of  living  as  I  do  " 

"  Oh  well,  Sam.  if  that  is  all,  come  cheer  up  ;  for  Ned  and 
I  have  a  plan  in  view,  and  if  you  will  join  us,  perhaps  things 
will  be  better  for  us  all." 

"  I'll  join  you  and  Ned  in  any  thing,  but  I  don't  see  what 
use  I  can  be  to  you." 

"  So  much  use,  that  we  can  do  nothing  without  you  do 
join  us,  Sam.  Can  we,  Jim  ? 

"  No,  I  fear  we  cannot." 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  boys  ?  Come,  I'm  ready  for  any  thing." 

';  You  tell  him,  Jim,  all  about  it.  I  say,  Sam,  it's  the 
best  thing  you  ever  heard  of.  I  tell  you  what,  won't  it  be 
nice  though?" 

And  Ned  kicked  up  his  heels,  ran  a  few  steps,  caught  up 
a  smooth  flat  stone,  and  away  it  went  skimming  the  surfaoe 
of  the  water,  and  in  plunged  Jowler,  as  he  had  often  done 
before,  on  a  fruitless  search  after  it.  Jim  took  a  seat  along 
side  of  Sam,  and  soon  unfolded  his  scheme  for  adventure. 
Sam's  countenance  brightened  as  Jim  went  on,  and  he  was 
too  impatient  to  wait  until  the  whole  was  regularly  told. 

"  And  you  want  me  to  manage  the  boat,  and  you  will 
sell  the  things  ?" 

"  That  is  it,  Sam." 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Jim,  who  put  all  this  in  your  head? 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  19 

I  wonder  why  I  never  thought  about  taking  clams  and  oys 
ters  there  !  I  am  sure  they  will  buy  them — I  might  try 
some,  couldn't  I  ?" 

':  Certainly — but  how  are  we  to  get  a  boat  ?  your  father 
has  none,  has  he  ?" 

"  No,  not  now,  but  I  know  where  I  can  borrow  one  ;  it 
has  a  sail  to  it — it  is  old  and  leaky  though,  but  a  little  calk 
ing  will  make  all  tight." 

No  sooner  had  Sam  said  this,  than  Ned  started  off  again 
on  another  gallop  ;  he  took  quite  a  circuit  this  time,  and  com 
ing  back  caught  Sam  by  the  back  of  his  collar,  and  pulled 
him  over  flat  upon  the  rock. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you,  Jim,  that  Sam  Oakum  was  the  fellow 
for  us  ?': 

"  Don't,  Ned,  act  so  crazy ;  let  Sam  go." 

"  Oh  let  him  alone,  Jim,  he  is  so  full,  he  must  act  out  a 
little." 

Sam  rolled  himself  off  from  the  rock,  picked  up  his  little 
tarred  hat,  which  had  fallen  upon  the  sand  : 

'•  Well,  boys,  when  shall  we  go, — to-morrow  ?" 

"  Why,  can  you  get  the  boat  ready  by  that  time,  Sam  ?" 

"  Yes,  that  is,  if  old  Andrews  will  let  me  have  it ;  I  guess 
there  will  be  no  fear  of  that." 

"  Well,  how  shall  we  know  ?  for  if  we  go  to-morrow,  we 
must  be  up  early  and  pick  our  strawberries.  Shall  we  come 
down  here  to-night,  Sam  ?" 

"  No,  I  tell  you  what  we'll  do — if  I  can  get  the  boat,  and 
father  will  let  me  go,  I  won't  come  up — so  if  you  don't  see 
me,  you  may  conclude  we  shall  go." 

"  Agreed,  Sam." 

Sam  was  on  good  terms  with  the  old  man  from  whom  he 
expected  to  get  the  boat,  and  found  no  difficulty  on  that 
score  ;  it  occupied  him,  however,  the  remainder  of  the  after 
noon  in  putting  her  in  a  condition  suitable  for  their  voyage, 
and  even  then  it  was  but  a  frail  concern  to  venture  in, 
where  at  times  the  winds  were  strong  and  the  waters  rough. 
But  Sam  knew  no  fear ;  so  taking  the  oars  and  thanking  his 
old  friend  very  heartily  for  his  kindness,  "  lay  to,"  and  the 
little  skiff  flew  through  the  smooth  water  like  a  bird. 

He  had  accomplished,  however,  but  one  part  of  his  work  ; 
he  had  yet  to  meet  his  father  and  obtain  his  consent,  and 
his  heart  sunk  within  him  when  he  thought  of  home  and 


20  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 


the  probable  condition  of  things  there.  lie  had  resolved  what 
course  to  pursue — he  had  done  wrong,  he  had  spoken  impro 
perly  to  his  parent,  he  must  ask  his  forgiveness  before  he 
could  be  happy.  But  he  knew  not  in  what  condition  he 
might  find  that  parent.  He  rowed  his  boat  up  to  the  rock 
where  he  had  held  the  conversation  with  Jim  and  Ned — 
hauled  her  up  on  the  shore  as  far  as  he  was  able,  carried 
the  stone  anchor  on  land,  and  walked  directly  towards  home, 
strong  in  good  resolutions,  and  with  some  faint  hope  that 
things  might  be  better  than  he  feared.  He  gathered  up  the 
horse-shoes  as  he  went  along  which  he  had  collected  on  the 
beach  in  the  afternoon,  enough  to  make  a  good  supper  for 
his  pigs ;  and  throwing  them  over  into  their  pen  as  he  passed, 
was  just  entering  the  door  of  his  dwelling  when  he  met  his 
father,  who  had  his  hat  on  and  was  going  out.  Sam  saw  at 
a  glance  that  all  was  right — he  cast  his  eyes  down : 

"  Pa,  I'm  sorry  I  spoke  so  this  morning." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  now,  Sammy."  And  as  he  saw  Sam 
wiping  his  eyes,  for  the  tears  came  fast.  "  Never  mind  now, 
my  boy,  it  has  gone  by,  and  a  good  many  other  things  I 
hope  too — go  in  and  get  your  supper." 

Sam  entered  the  room,  happier  than  he  had  been  for 
many  a  day ;  his  mother's  countenance  was  lighted  up  with 
a  smile,  and  his  little  sister  came  up  and  whispered, 

"  Pa  aint  been  to  Grizzle's  to-day."  Sam  looked  at  his 
mother  and  she  at  him — tears  were  glistening  in  both  their 
eyes,  but  they  told  only  of  joy  and  hope. 

He  soon  communicated  to  his  mother  his  plan  for  the 
next  day ;  she  made  no  objections,  only  she  hoped  he  would 
take  care  of  himself. 

"  And  may  be  you'd  better  speak  to  your  father,  Sammy." 

Just  then  Mr.  Oakum  came  in,  and  Sam  proceeded  at 
once  to  tell  him  what  had  been  proposed,  and  what  he  had 
done  about  it. 

"  I  thought  I  saw  a  boat  laying  up  by  the  rock  there, 
and  I  couldn't  think  where  it  came  from — is  that  Andrew's 
skiff?  don't  it  leak  badly  ?" 

"  Oh,  I've  calked  her,  Pa,  she  is  tight  as  a  whistle  now." 

"  Well,  Sammy,  you  must  take  care  of  yourself,  you  know 
it's  rough  sometimes  round  the  point ;  you  must  keep  close 
to  shore,  that  skiff  won't  stand  much.  I  don't  think  it  will 
be  of  much  use  for  you  to  go  there,  but  you  may  try." 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  21 

Early  the  next  morning — so  early  that  a  faint  streak  of 
light  was  barely  visible  in  the  east,  Sam  was  off  with  his 
skiff,  raking  for  clams  and  oysters  as  his  share  of  the  freight, 
and  by  the  time  Jim  and  Ned  were  at  the  shore  with  their 
baskets,  he  was  ready  to  receive  them. 


CHAPTER  II. 

IT  was  a  bright  and  beautiful  morning,  the  water  calm 
and  peaceful  as  it  was  possible  for  water  to  be  so  near  the 
restless  ocean.  Ned  stood  on  the  shore,  delighted  to  see  the 
little  skiff  cut  her  way  through  its  glassy  surface,  and  to  hear 
the  sound  of  Sam's  oars  reverberating  for  a  great  distance 
along  the  opposite  shore. 

He  watched  as  it  receded,  until  thinking  it  was  about  as 
far  as  he  could  make  them  hear,  hallooed  with  his  loudest  call, 
"  Good  bye,  boys."  He  saw  them  both  look  towards  the 
shore,  and  heard  in  return,  "  Grood  bye,  Ned,"  coming  as  from 
a  great  distance.  He  took  off  his  hat  and  waved  it,  then  went 
on  his  way  to  his  daily  task. 

Sam,  although  not  experienced  in  long  excursions,  knew 
enough  of  the  labor  of  rowing,  not  to  expend  his  strength  at 
starting.  They  had  ten  miles  to  pass  over  before  they  could 
reach  their  place  of  destination,  and  the  latter  part  would 
require  much  more  exertion  than  the  commencement  of  their 
voyage  :  so  like  an  experienced  mariner,  he  made  out  little 
effort  at  first,  and  suffered  his  boat  to  flow  along  with  the  tide. 
Jim  was  quite  a  novice  in  such  matters,  but  Sam  had  placed 
him  at  the  helm,  and  given  him  sundry  directions  how  to 
steer. 

{:  The  tide  is  just  beginning  to  fill,  and  I  guess  it  will 
bring  me  up  with  the  point  without  much  rowing,  if  you  will 
just  keep  her  head  right  there." 

"  I'll  try,  Sam  ;  but  don't  you  think  I  had  better  help 
you  to  row  ?" 

':  Oh,  no ;  it's  easy  work  now.  She  goes  a  pretty  good 
jog  ;  and  I  only  just  dip  my  oars  and  take  them  out  again. 
I  guess,  though,  there  will  be  some  pulling  when  we  get  round 


22  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

the  point ;  but  perhaps  we  shall  have  a  little  breeze,  and 
then  we  can  put  up  our  sail." 

Sam's  guessing  turned  out  to  be  very  correct ;  it  required 
but  little  effort  to  make  the  point ;  and  as  they  turned  their 
course  in  the  opposite  direction  to  that  in  which  they  had 
been  steering,  and  were  no  longer  sheltered  by  the  island 
which  formed  their  beautiful  harbor,  but  were  fairly  in  the 
outer  bay,  across  whose  waters  they  could  see  the  haze  of  the 
ocean  and  the  white  beacon  that  lighted  its  weary  voyagers 
to  their  desired  haven,  the  wind  blew  gently,  and  Sam  lost 
no  time  in  taking  advantage  of  it ;  there  was  just  enough  to 
carry  them  along  against  the  tide,  which  was  no  longer  in 
their  favor. 

The  fort  to  which  our  little  voyagers  were  steering  had 
been  erected  about  ten  years.  It  was  intended  to  command 
the  channel  through  which  vessels  of  ordinary  size  must  pass, 
in  their  way  from  the  ocean  to  one  of  our  most  valuable  cities. 
It  was  built  with  two  tiers  of  ports,  and  of  sufficient  strength 
for  heavy  guns ;  and  as  our  foreign  relations  were  in  an  un 
settled  state,  it  had,  at  the  period  under  consideration,  its 
full  complement  of  men.  It  was  erected  some  distance  from 
the  shore  on  a  ledge  of  rocks  which,  at  low  water,  formed  a 
passage  to  the  main  land  ;  but  when  the  tide  was  in,  a  few 
only  of  the  highest  rocks  could  be  seen. 

The  nearer  they  approached  the  place  of  their  destination, 
the  more  serious  did  the  matter  appear  to  them. 

"  Do  you  think,  Sam,  there  is  danger  they  won't  let  us 
in?" 

"  I  don't  know,  I  hope  not,  Jim.  It  would  be  too  bad, 
after  all  our  trouble,  not  to  get  even  a  chance  to  sell  any 
thing." 

"  Well,  Sam,  we  can  but  try,  you  know.  We  have  only  to 
tell  them  what  we've  come  for ; — but,  I  say,  Sam,  it  makes 
my  heart  beat  to  look  at  it :  what  high  walls  it  has ;  and  see. 
there  are  the  sentinels  walking  up  and  down — how  their 
guns  glitter  in  the  sunshine  !" 

"  Halloo !  halloo !  where  are  you  bound,  my  hear 
ties?" 

The  boys  were  startled  by  the  gruff  tones  in  which  they 
had  been  accosted :  and,  turning  their  eyes  toward  the  shore 
from  whence  the  sounds  seemed  to  come,  saw  an  elderly  man 
dressed  in  sailor's  habit,  seated  on  a  rock,  and  beckoning  to 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  23 

them,  or  rather,  by  a  motion,  endeavoring   to   stop  their 
progress. 

"  Halloo  !  my  boys ;  don't  go  ahead  there,  or  you'll  be 
foul  of  the  rocks." 

Sam  immediately  turned  the  skiff  toward  the  shore,  and 
they  were  soon  in  close  contact  with  the  stranger.  He  was 
sitting  on  the  rock,  with  one  leg  swinging  backwards  and 
forwards,  and  the  stump  of  the  other  sticking  straight  out. 
His  dress  was  a  true  sailor's  rig,  of  blue  originally,  but  now 
much  soiled,  and  of  many  colors.  Spots  of  tar  were  pretty 
well  sprinkled  over  both  coat  and  trowsers ;  vest,  he  had 
none  ;  but,  instead  thereof,  a  dark  blue  shirt,  trimmed  around 
the  collar  and  bosom  with  something  that  had  once  been 
white.  On  his  head  sat  (for  the  crown  was  too  low  to  permit 
much  of  any  thing  to  enter  into  it)  a  glazed  hat,  which,  from 
its  bright  appearance,  had  lately  received  a  fresh  coat  of  tar  ; 
large  bushy  locks  of  sandy-colored  hair  stood  out  from  be 
neath,  based  by  a  thick  mat  of  whiskers,  extending  under  his 
chin,  and  covering  his  whole  neck  ;  while  down  his  back  hung 
a  queue  of  enormous  size,  reaching  nearly  to  the  rock  on 
which  he  sat.  His  features,  what  could  be  seen  of  them, 
were  not  forbidding,  although  very  much  doubled  and 
twisted  by  the  wear  and  tear  of  time  and  rough  weather. 

"  We  were  going  to  the  fort,"  said  Jim,  "  and  can  you 
tell  us,  good  man,  if  they  will  let  us  in  ?" 

"  That's  accordin'  as  what  your  business  is — if  you  got 
an  arr'nd  to  the  major  or  his  lady,  or  any  of  his  folks,  or  to 
the  lieutenant  and  his  lady,  or  so  on — why  the  case  is,  they'll 
have  to  pass  you  right  in  ;  but  if  its  only  one  of  the  privates 
you  see,  that's  another  thing." 

"  But  we  have  no  particular  errand  to  any  body  ;  we  have 
got  a  few  things  to  sell,  and  would  be  glad  to  dispose  of  them 
at  the  fort." 

"  Ay,  ay,  that's  a  new  case — things  to  sell,  ha  !  I  guess 
it  will  depend  upon  what  things  you've  got.  If  it's  contra 
band  goods,  and  you're  thinking  to  git  the  better  of  Uncle 
Sam,  you've  come  to  the  wrong  market ;  the  major  '11  make 
short  work  with  you." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  contraband  goods  or 
trying  to  get  the  better  of  any  body,"  said  Jim  ;  "  we  only 
thought  they  might  be  in  want  of  a  few  fresh  vegetables  and 
some  strawberries." 


24  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

"  Ay,  ay,  that's  clean  another  case,  there's  no  contraband 
in  them  ;  but  where  under  the  blessed  heaven  have  you  come 
from  ?  these  things  can't  grow  nowheres  round  here." 

"  I  shouldn't  think  they  could,"  said  Jim,  looking  signifi 
cantly  at  the  dreary  waste  of  sand  and  stunted  pine  that 
spread  as  far  as  he  could  see  ;  '•  strawberries  might  grow  up 
in  the  pines  there,  but  I  guess  not  such  as  these."  With  that 
Jim  stooped,  and  taking  up  a  basket,  pulled  off  the  covering 
of  green  leaves,  and  held  them  out  for  the  old  man  to  look 
at. 

"  Of  all  sights  my  eyes  ever  looked  at !" 

"  I  think  you'll  find  them  as  good  as  they  look,"  taking  a 
double  haudfull  and  holding  them  out  towards  the  old  man. 

"  No,  no,"  shaking  his  weather-beaten  face,  "  I've  no 
money  to  buy  'em ;  you  must  go  to  the  major." 

';  Take  them  and  welcome,  sir ;  I  had  no  thought  of  ask 
ing  you  for  pay ;  you're  very  welcome  to  them." 

"God  bless  your  young  heart!"  and  holding  out  his 
hands,  he  soon  showed  that  he  knew  how  to  dispose  of  them  ; 
as  soon  as  he  had  finished,  he  jumped  down  on  his  one  leg 
and  adjusted  his  crutches. 

"  Now,  my  hearties,  I  tell  you  what  do  you  do  ;  steer  that 
craft  o'  your'n  ught  straight  across  to  the  fort,  and  just  where 
you  see  that  ledge  of  rocks  ends,  you'll  come  foul  of  a  pair  o' 
stairs  ;  haul  up  there,  and  wait  till  I  hobble  round  to  my  boat, 
and  I'll  be  with  you  afore  you've  made  all  fast." 

Away  went  the  old  man,  his  crutches  making  the  sand 
fly  in  his  haste  to  get  to  his  boat,  which  lay  a  short  distance 
from  where  he  had  been  sitting. 

The  boys  obeyed  his  directions,  and  had  scarcely  made 
their  boat  fast,  ere  the  old  man  was  alongside. 

"Now,  my  hearties,  you  just  hold  on  awhile  here,  till  I 
see  the  major." 

The  moments  seem  long  when  we  are  in  suspense,  and 
our  boys  in  their  anxiety  began  to  fear  that  they  should  see 
no  more  of  the  old  sailor,  it  appeared  so  long,  so  very  long 
that  he  stayed.  After  gazing  intently  at  the  gate  until  their 
eyes  were  aching,  all  at  once  the  sentinel  stopped,  made  a 
peculiar  motion  with  his  musket,  and  put  his  hand  to  his  cap  ; 
a  gentleman  of  fine  appearance  passed  out,  followed  at  a  re 
spectful  distance  by  the  crutches.  He  came  directly  to  the 
stairs,  and  accosting  the  boys  in  a  very  pleasant  manner,  in- 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  25 

quired  where  they  had  come  from,  and  what  they  had  for 
sale.  Jim,  in  a  straightforward,  inanly  way,  answered  his 
queries. 

"  But,  my  little  fellow,  what  ever  put  it  into  your  head  to 
come  so  far  as  this  in  search  of  a  market  ?" 

"  We  could  think,  sir,  of  no  other  place  where  there 
would  bo  the  least  chance  to  sell  any  thing ;  the  people  in 
this  region  are  too  poor  to  buy  such  things." 

"  You  may  well  say  so,  my  lad,  and  they  are  like  to  be 
so ;  for  a  lazier  set  I  never  saw ;  but  I  am  glad  to  find  that 
you,  boys,  are  disposed  to  do  something.  Peter  tells  me  that 
you  have  some  choice  things  for  sale." 

Peter,  as  we  must  call  him  hereafter,  touched  his  hat 
when  his  name  was  mentioned,  but  otherwise  remained  per 
fectly  still,  at  a  respectful  distance,  saying  nothing. 

Jim  immediately  uncovered  the  different  articles,  and 
with  his  hat  off,  looked  up  at  the  officer,  who  smiled  as  he 
surveyed  the  little  stock  of  goods. 

"  You  have  made  out  a  pretty  good  assortment — those 
strawberries  are  fine,  indeed  ;  are  there  plenty  such  raised  in 
your  place  ?" 

"  None,  sir,  but  in  our  garden  ;  my  father  used  to  be  very 
fond  of  fruit,  and  he  taught  us  to  raise  it." 

"  Is  your  father  living  ?" 

u  He  is  not,  sir." 

A  shade  of  sadness  at  once  passed  over  the  countenance 
of  the  officer,  and  his  eye  settled  more  intently  upon  the 
boy. 

"  Well,  my  lad,  have  you  fixed  upon  a  price  for  your  arti 
cles  ?" 

'•  I  leave  that  to  yourself,  sir,  as  I  am  entirely  ignorant 
of  their  value." 

Major  Morris  then  ordered  the  different  articles  to  be 
measured,  and  putting  down  prices  to  them,  such  as  he  was 
accustomed  to  pay,  handed  the  paper  to  Jim. 

"  Not  reckoning  the  strawberries,  which  I  must  pay  some 
thing  extra  for,  the  amount  is  one  dollar  and  a  half." 

Jim  looked  up  with  astonishment. 

"  I  have  calculated  them  at  city  prices,  but  if  that  is  not 
enough" 

"  Oh  yes,  sir,  yes,  sir,  I  was  not  thinking  of  that ;  it  is 
much  more  than  I  expected." 


J. 


26  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 


"And  now  for  the  strawberries,  what  shall  I  say  for 
them?  they  are  finer  than  those  I  usually  purchase." 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  cannot  think  of  taking  any  thing  for  them, 
since  you  allow  me  so  much  for  the  others ;  if  you  v,  ill  only 
let  me  take  some  out  and  give  that  good  man  there  (pointing 
to  Peter),  you  are  welcome  to  the  rest." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,  here  Peter."  But  Peter  had  other 
views  of  the  matter,  and  instead  of  advancing  to  receive  them, 
made  two  or  three  retrograde  steps  with  his  crutches,  at  the 
same  time  putting  his  hand  upon  his  long  queue  and  smooth 
ing  it  down — a  custom  of  his  when  at  all  confused,  and  roll 
ing  a  tremendous  quid  from  one  side  of  his  mouth  to  the 
other. 

"  The  young  gentleman  wishes  to  give  you  some  of  these, 
Peter." 

"  Thankee,  sir,  thankee  ;"  nodding  his  head  very  fast  all 
the  time,  "  no  occasion  at  all." 

"  Well,  Peter,  since  you  refuse  them,  take  this  basket 
and  hand  it  to  Mrs.  Morris  yourself/' 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir ;"  and  away  went  Peter  in  double-quick 
time. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Sam  manifested  no  impatience,  al 
though  somewhat  anxious  as  to  what  would  be  his  fate  ;  the 
moment  Jim  could  with  propriety,  he  directed  the  attention 
of  the  gentleman  to  Sam's  little  heap  of  clams  and  oysters. 

Sam  took  off  the  seaweed  which  he  had  thrown  over  them, 
and.  blushed  deeply  as  he  met  the  keen  black  eye  of  Major 
Morris,  which  having  glanced  a  moment  at  t/iem,  was  scru 
tinizing  with  apparent  interest  the  appearance  of  their  owner. 

As  Sam  had  no  more  idea  of  fixing  a  price  than  Jim  had, 
the  buyer  was  obliged  to  pay  for  them  on  his  own  terms ;  so 
handing  him  fifty  cents,  he  said, 

"  I  fear  it  will  not  compensate  you  for  the  trouble  of 
bringing  them  so  far,  but  it  is  the  rate  for  which  I  buy 
them." 

Sam  expressed  his  perfect  satisfaction  the  best  way  he 
could,  for  the  eye  of  the  major  was  so  long  fixed  upon  him 
that  it  quite  took  away  his  self-possession. 

Having  made  arrangements  to  bring  such  articles  as  their 
garden  afforded,  twice  a  week,  with  light  and  happy  hearts, 
lighter  and  happier  than  can  be  well  described,  they  pointed 
their  sail  and  bent  their  course  for  home.  The  rock  was  to 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  2? 


be  their  landing  place,  and  long  before  they  reached  it,  Ned 
could  be  seen  throwing  stones,  and  cutting  capers  with 
Jowler. 

"  Well,  boys,  how  are  you  ?  what  luck — sold  any  thing  ? 
I  know  by  your  looks  you  haven't !" 

"  How  are  you,  Ned  ?  any  thing  happened  ?  You  look 
sober." 

"  No,  nothing." 

All  this  was  said  while  the  boat  was  nearing  shore,  the 
moment  it  touched  the  land,  Ned  was  on  board ;  he  looked 
at  the  empty  baskets  and  then  at  Jim  and  Sam.  Jim  smiled, 
and  held  out  his  hand,  full  of  silver  pieces — and  Sam  held 
out  his ;  and  then  they  told  him  of  their  success,  and  what 
arrangements  they  had  made  for  the  future. 

Ned  was  somewhat  confounded  at  the  good  news,  but  no 
sooner  did  he  comprehend  it  fully,  than  he  took  hold  of  both 
of  them  at  once,  shaking  them  and  pushing  them  about,  and 
hallooing. 

"  How  are  you,  boys  ?  huzza  !  huzza  !" 

"  Do,  Ned,  stop  your  noise,  and  don't  carry  on  so ;  you'll 
have  us  all  in  the  water." 

"  Never  mind,  Jim.  we'll  soon  work  ourselves  dry — huzza  ! 
huzza !" 

"  I'm  afraid  you'll  set  the  old  boat  a  leaking,  Ned." 

"  Well,  Sam,  I'll  stop  ;  but  how  can  you  fellows  keep  so 
still,  when  you've  had  such  good  luck  ?" 

Sam  would  have  been  perfectly  contented  with  the  pro 
duct  of  his  clams  and  oysters  for  his  day's  work,  but  Jim 
would  insist  upon  giving  him  a  certain  proportion  of  what 
he  had  received,  which  was  finally  fixed  at  one  quarter ;  so 
that  Sam  was  to  have,  besides  all  he  could  procure  from  the 
sale  of  his  own  articles,  one-fourth  of  whatever  other  things 
were  sold,  as  his  pay  for  the  boat  and  his  labor  in  row 
ing. 

And  when  Sam  took  the  money  which  Jim  handed  to 
him,  and  put  it  with  what  he  had  already  received,  and  looked 
at  it.  a  crowd  of  thoughts  rushed  into  his  mind.  Parents, 
sisters,  home,  the  past,  the  present,  and  the  future — and  that 
future  bright  with  prospect  of  employment,  and  the  means 
of  making  those  he  loved  as  happy  as  himself.  He  could 
make  no  answer  to  the  cheerful  "good  bye"  of  Ned  and  Jim, 
but  he  turned  his  bright  and  glistening  eye  towards  them, 


28  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

and  they  went  on  thoir  way  the  happier,  that  they  saw  how 
full  of  joy  was  Sam. 

Sam  kept  his  money  in  his  hand  until  he  reached  home, 
and  going  directly  to  his  mother,  put  the  whole  of  his  trea 
sure  into  her  lap. 

"  Why,  Sammy,  where  did  you  get  all  this  ?" 

"  Earned  it,  mother  ;"  and  then  he  told  her  all  about  it, 
and  what  he  was  expecting  to  do  in  future. 

"  Oh,"  said  his  mother,  laying  down  her  work,  and  clasp 
ing  her  hands  together  in  strong  emotion,  "  isn't  this  good  ! 
And  now,  Sammy,  you'll  have  something  to  do  all  the  time, 
and  may  be  your  Pa  will  help  you  ;  and  may  be  he'll  feel 

encouraged  to  do  different ;  and  may  be" But  the  hope 

of  what  might  be,  was  too  bright  for  her  to  utter  it ;  and 
so  she  sat  and  looked  at  Sam,  and  then  she  turned  and 
looked  out  at  the  window — and  who  can  tell  what  a  pleasing 
picture  was  painted  out  before  her,  on  the  sandy  shore  and 
the  glassy  river. 

Sam  had  designed  that  his  mother  should  keep  the  mo 
ney,  and  use  it  for  their  need,  but  she  refused. 

"  No,  no ;  keep  it  yourself,  Sammy ;  or,  if  you  please, 
hand  it  to  your  Pa.  I  see  he's  coming  yonder,  and  all  seems 
to  be  right  with  him." 

And  so  it  proved ;  he  had  been  to  work  for  a  neighbor, 
where  no  restraint  would  have  been  placed  upon  his  appetite  ; 
but  strange  to  say,  he  had  not  indulged.  He  had  received  no 
money  for  his  services,  for  there  was  seldom  any  of  that  to 
be  got,  but  he  had  a  bunch  of  fish  in  one  hand,  and  a  kettle 
with  flour  in  the  other. 

"  Why,  Sammy, you  got  back?  that  is  clever :  what  luck? 
not  much,  I  guoss." 

Sam  made  no  reply,  but  as  soon  as  his  father  had  laid 
down  his  things,  he  handed  out  his  little  store : 

"  Here,  Pa,  please  to  take  this." 

"  Why,  Sammy,  you  didn't  sell  your  things  for  all  this, 
did  you?" 

And  then  Sam  told  him  all  the  story,  while  his  father 
looked  in  amazement  at  the  money  and  at  Sam,  and  then 
at  his  wife  ;  as  soon  as  he  had  finished,  he  held  out  his  hand  : 

"  Here,  my  boy.  go  give  it  to  your  mother  ;  its  better  with 
her  than  with  me." 

"  No,  Pa,  I'd  rather  you  would  take  it,  and  do  what  you 
please  with  it." 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  29 

Blessings  on  you,  Sam,  that  you  had  the  good  sense 
and  good  feeling  to  answer  as  you  did.  You  have  poured  a 
cordial  into  that  father's  heart,  which  will  do  more  to  heal 
his  weaknesses  and  strengthen  his  good  resolutions,  than 
could  have  been  done  by  all  the  world  beside.  He  feels  that 
he  is  yet  a  father,  all  is  not  lost — his  children  yet  trust  in 
him — the  bright,  happy  look  of  that  boy,  has  accomplished 
a  work  which  an  angel  would  gladly  have  been  commissioned 
to  perform.  God  bless  you,  Sam,  for  this  one  act,  to  your 
latest  day. 

"  Well,  Sammy,  then  keep  it  yourself,  and  add  as  much 
to  it  as  you  can ;  for  you  are  a  good  boy." 

"  They  shall  have  it  tho'  yet,  in  some  way  or  other,"  said 
Sam  to  himself,  as  he  put  it  into  his  little  chest — "  I  shan't 
keep  it  for  myself,  that  I  shan't." 

It  would  have  required  two  smart  talkers  to  have  an 
swered  all  Ned's  questions  as  fast  as  he  put  them,  and  as 
Jim  never  talked  fast,  he  was  not  half  through  answering 
when  they  reached  home :  their  lively  conversation  brought 
their  mother  out  to  meet  them,  as  they  were  entering  the 
front  yard. 

"  Oh  Ma,  what  do  you  think  ?  Jim  has  sold  all  the  things 
for  ever  so  much  ;  see  the  empty  baskets  (and  striking  Jim's 
pocket),  hear  that — hear  the  money  jingle." 

Both  smiled  at  Ned's  earnestness,  and  entering  the  house, 
a  little  circle  was  soon  formed  around  Jim,  who  went  through 
with  his  story  in  his  own  way. 

"  And  now,  Ma,"  said  Ned,  as  soon  as  his  brother  had 
finished,  "  you'll  see  how  I  can  work ;  and  if  you  will  only 
give  me  a  little  bite  of  something,  I  will  go  at  once  and  finish 
mj  hoeing,  for  I  was  so  anxious  to  see  the  boys  come  back, 
that  I  have  done  nothing  all  the  afternoon  but  look  over  to 
the  point " 

"  You  now  feel,  boys,  the  benefit  of  having  been  taught 
to  work ;  it  is  no  hardship  to  you  now." 

"  Why,  Ma,  I  would  rather  work  than  play." 

"  You  thought  differently  the  other  day,  Ned." 

"I  know  that,  Jim ;  but  you  see  the  case  is  altered,  that 
plan  of  yours  which  I  laughed  so  much  about,  makes  altoge 
ther  a  great  difference  ;  I  don't  believe  any  body  would  want 
to  work  just  for  the  sake  of  it,  would  they,  Ma?" 

"  No  doubt,  my  dear,  we  need  some  stimulus  to  make  us 
2* 


30  JAMES   MONTJOY  J     OR, 


exert  ourselves  cheerfully ;  but  your  father  always  said  that 
it  was  better  to  be  at  work,  even  if  it  did  not  amount  to 
much  ;  it  was  impossible,  he  said,  for  an  idle  person  to  be 
happy." 

Mrs.  Montjoy  said  but  little  by  way  of  encouragement, 
for  she  saw  that  the  boys  were  both  highly  elated  with  their 
success  and  the  prospect  before  them ;  but  she  secretly  ad 
mired  and  gratefully  acknowledged  the  overruling  of  that 
kind  Providence,  which  had  thus  opened  a  way  for  her  chil 
dren's  usefulness  and  the  supply  of  their  wants. 

The  next  morning  Jim  and  Ned  did  not  need  to  be 
awaked ;  there  was  real  business  on  their  hand*  now,  and 
they  must  use  their  time  to  the  best  advantage ;  so  at  it  they 
went  while  the  sun  was  but  just  rising,  and  by  the  time  their 
breakfast  was  prepared,  had  completed  hilling  their  cabbages : 
as  they  ceased  work,  Jim  leaned  on  his  hoe,  and  looking  at 
his  brother, 

"  I've  been  thinking,  Ned,  what  we've  got  to  do." 

"  I  knew  you'd  been  thinking,  for  you  haven't  spoken  a 
word  this  half  hour  ;  twice  I  asked  you  about  old  Peter,  and 
you  only  answered,  '  ha  !'  " 

"  Did  I,  Ned  ?  well,  I  was  thinking  what  we  are  going 
to  do  about  these  cabbages." 

"  I  don't  see  any  thing  to  do  about  them ;  aint  they  well 
hoed  ?" 

"  Yes,  they  are  doing  well  enough  ;  but  what  will  the 
cow  do?" 

"  Why,  eat  them ;  I  am  sure  none  of  us  wants  them." 

"  Yes,  but  Ned,  how  can  the  cow  have  them,  if  we  sell 
them  ?" 

"  That,  to  be  sure ;  but  where  can  we  put  any  more, — the 
garden  is  full  ?" 

"  We  can  put  one  here,  and  another  there,  and  there  in 
those  vacant  spots  ;  there  will  be  room  for  one  hundred  heads 
and  more." 

"  Well,  Jim  ;  any  thing  more  ?" 

"  Yes,  I've  been  thinking  where  we  could  plant  some  more 
potatoes." 

"  There  is  no  use  of  thinking  about  that,  Jim  ;  for  when 
these  cabbages  are  planted,  every  spot  will  be  occupied ;  you 
don't  think  of  digging  up  the  walks,  do  you?" 

"  No,  not  exactly  that,  Ned  ;  but  there  is  that  strip  of 


I  VE   BEEN    THINKING. 


turf,  south  of  the  path  running  to  the  barn ;  the  grass  is 
of  no  value,  and  if  Ma  would  let  us  take  it,  we  might  turn 
it  over  with  our  spades,  and  raise  twenty  bushels  of  potatoes 
there." 

"  Any  thing  else,  Jim  ?" 

"  That  will  do  for  to-day,  won't  it,  Ned  ?" 

"  I  think  we  shall  find  it  will — it  makes  my  back  ache 
already,  to  think  about  that  digging.  I  wish  it  was  a  little 
cooler." 

The  pleasant  voice  of  their  little  sister  was  now  heard 
calling  them  to  breakfast,  for  which  they  were  bcth  well  pre 
pared  by  their  early  labors. 


CHAPTER  III. 

SAM'S  first  care  after  awaking,  on  the  morning  which  suc 
ceeded  the  scenes  in  the  last  chapter,  was  to  make  some 
arrangement  with  old  Mr.  Andrews  for  the  boat.  The  old 
man  was  one  of  the  easy  sort ;  he  had  never  done  much  when 
young,  and  now  in  advanced  life  depended  entirely  for  the 
few  clams  he  wanted  upon  his  son,  who  lived  a  short  distance 
from  him,  and  was  growing  up  in  his  father's  likeness. 

"  You're  welcome,  Sammy,  to  use  the  boat  as  long  as 
you're  amind  to,  and  I  won't  ax  you  nothin'  for  it ;  only  once 
in  a  while  you  may  bring  the  old  woman  a  few  clams." 

"  I  thank  you  very  much,  Uncle  John  ;  I  will  take  good 
care  of  the  boat,  and  will  bring  you  some  clams  every  day." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no,  Sammy,  I  don't  want  no  sich  thing  as 
that ;  only  once  in  a  while,  you  see.  Jack,  he's  a  gittin'  lazy 
like,  and  sometimes  the  old  woman  gits  tired  of  fish,  and  then 
a  few  clams  is  a  kind  of  change  for  her." 

Sam's  next  business  was  to  visit  Mr.  Grizzle's  store,  that 
he  might  purchase  some  article  his  mother  needed. 

"  There  shan't  be  no  more  trust,  if  I  can  help  it,"  said  he, 
as  he  took  up  his  money-box,  and  put  some  of  its  precious 
contents  into  his  pocket.  It  was  quite  early  in  the  day,  yet 
several  of  Mr.  Grizzle's  customers  were  already  assembled, 
when  Sam  reached  the  store ;  he  had  a  great  reluctance  to 


32  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

enter  it,  associated  as  it  was  in  his  mina  with  all  that  had 
been  dark  and  sorrowful  in  his  past  experience ;  but  no 
where  else  could  supplies  bo  obtained.  Old  Mr.  Grizzle  was 
busy  behind  his  counter,  twirling  the  toddy- stick,  saying 
smart  things,  or  what  he  took  to  be  so,  for  he  laughed  very 
heartily  at  his  own  wit ;  and  his  customers,  poor  souls ! 
were  so  much  in  his  debt,  that  they  were  obliged  to  laugh  too. 

Sam  glanced  his  eye  over  them  all ;  some  we-e  bald  with 
age  ;  some  in  the  prime  of  life ;  and  one,  he  kn<  w  him  well, 
a  lad  but  two  years  older  than  himself,  was  draining  the  last 
sweet  drop  from  the  cup  of  poison  as  Sam  stepped  up  to  the 
counter. 

"  Mr.  Grizzle,  what  do  you  charge  for  seven  pounds  of 
flour?" 

"  What  do  I  charge  ?"  At  the  same  time  putting  his 
spectacles  upon  his  forehead. 

"  Yes,  sir,  what  is  the  price  ?" 

"  The  price,  boy?  Why,  how  does  you  pappy  want  it? 
for  fish  or  for  trust  ?" 

"  We  don't  want  it  for  neither,  sir,  but  for  the  money." 

"  Ah  ! — the  money.  Well,  I  s'pose  we  must  try  to  let 
you  have  it  a  little  less  ;  but  flour  is  plaguy  dear,  any  how, 
and  I  aint  got  none  but  rye." 

Sam  succeeded  in  procuring  a  small  deduction,  and  with 
that  he  purchased  some  tar. 

"  I  shall  tar  my  boat  with  what  I  have  saved  by  paying 
the  money,"  said  Sam  to  himself,  as  he  laid  down  his  cash  on 
the  counter ;  then  taking  up  his  goods  went  straight  on  his 
way. 

"  That  seems  to  be  rather  a  cute  boy.  Mr.  Grizzle — that 
young  Oakum." 

"  The  younker,  I  guess,  will  go  ahead  of  the  old  man," 
said  Grizzle,  as  he  dropped  the  money  Sam  had  given  him 
through  a  little  hole  in  the  counter. 

An  old  man,  with  his  thin  white  locks  dangling  on  his 
shoulders,  placed  his  half-emptied  tumbler  on  the  bench  be 
side  him,  and  turning  his  head  very  emphatically  on  one  side, 
said,  -  Oakum  is  naturally  a  smart  man,  and  he  has  got  a 
clever  wife,  but  somehow  he  don't  get  along  much — no  better 
than  the  rest  on  us." 

"  And  what  is  the  reason,  Uncle  John,"  said  another  ad 
dressing  the  last  speaker,  "  that  we  are  all  so  poor  ?" 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  33 

"  Why,  I  s'pose  it's  to  be  so — it's  our  luck,  as  I  take  it." 

"  Our  luck?"  said  the  young  man,  who  stood  by  the  door 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  looking  at  the  receding  form  of 
Sam  Oakum,  whose  light  steps  were  carrying  him  far  on  his 
way — he  laid  a  strong  emphasis  on  the  word  luck. 

"  Yes,  as  I  take  it,  it's  our  luck  ;  a  man  may  work  ever  so 
hard,  but  if  luck  is  agin  him,  it's  no  use." 

"  Yes,  it  is  use,"  said  the  same  young  man ;  "  that  is,  if  a 
man  would  let  rum  alone — that  makes  the  bad  luck ;  I  wish 
there  had  never  been  a  drop  made." 

"  What's  that  you  say,  Bill  ?  I  guess  your  bitters  is  gone 
down  the  wrong  way  this  morning."  And  old  Grizzle 
laughed  heartily,  and  so  did  his  customers.  Bill,  as  he  was 
called,  laughed  a  little  too,  but  not  as  the  rest  did. 

"  S'pose  you  mix  Bill  another  glass,  Mr.  Grizzle,  and  see 
how  that  will  go  ?"  And  they  all  laughed  again ;  and  to 
carry  the  joke  through,  Grizzle  did  prepare  another  glass, 
and  placing  it  on  the  counter, 

"  There,  try  that,  Bill ;  but  maybe  you  darsen't,  you  seeai 
to  be  so  afraid  all  at  once." 

Bill  hesitated  a  moment ;  the  fear  of  ridicule  was  too 
powerful.  He  seized  the  glass,  and  pouring  its  contents 
hastily  down  his  throat,  left  the  store  amidst  the  uproarious 
laughter  of  his  companions. 

Jim  and  Ned  had  collected  a  much  larger  quantity  of 
vegetables  for  their  second  trip,  and  to  the  baskets  of  straw 
berries  which  they  designed  as  gifts,  added  a  beautiful  nose 
gay  of  the  earlier  flowers. 

"  Strawberries  and  flowers,"  said  Sam,  as  he  was  pushing 
the  boat  from  the  shore ;  "  your  things  look  tempting  in 
deed  ;  I  guess  old  Peter  will  hop  round  when  he  sees  these." 

"  I  have  brought  that  small  basket  on  purpose  for  him ; 
and  the  flowers  I  thought  the  ladies  might  be  pleased  with — 
I  don't  think  they  see  many  where  they  are." 

"  It  almost  makes  me  feel  bad,  Jim,  to  think  that  I  have 
nothing  to  carry  worth  looking  at." 

"  Why,  it  is  all  one  concern,  you  know,  Sam ;  and  I  mean 
to  have  you  hand  them  the  flowers." 

"  I  shan't  do  it,  Jim — I  should  make  a  pretty  figure,  with 
my  old  patched  clothes  and  bare  feet,  handing  flowers  to  la 
dies  and  gentlemen !" 
2* 


34  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

"  Sam  Oakum,  if  you  talk  so,  you'll  make  me  feel  bad  ; 
who  cares  for  your  clothes  ?" 

"  You  don't,  Jim,  I  know,  but  all  don't  feel  as  you  and 
Ned  do — Keep  her  head  to  the  point,  Jim,  straight  as  you 
can." 

Sam  had  much  more  rowing  to  do  than  on  the  former 
trip,  the  wind  not  coming  quite  so  soon  to  their  aid. 

Peter  was  on  the  look-out  for  them,  and  hailed  them  be 
fore  they  reached  the  landing. 

"  Halloo,  my  hearties  !  keep  her  jist  about  so — there — 
ease  up — in  with  your  oars  ;  you've  had  a  long  pull  to-day — • 
but  you'll  learn  to  take  it  sailor-fashion  after  a  while." 

The  boys  were  very  busy  fastening  their  boat  and  taking 
down  tlieir  sail,  and  did  not  at  the  moment  perceive  that 
any  one  was  present  but  the  old  sailor,  until,  attracted  by 
the  bunch  of  flowers  lying  on  one  of  the  baskets,  he  ex 
claimed, 

"  Susie.  Susie,  look  here !  did  you  ever  see  such  posies 
as  these?" 

Sam  at  .once  seated  himself  in  the  stern  of  the  boat,  as 
far  out  of  the  way  as  possible ;  while  Jim,  taking  up  the 
flow«rs,  handed  them  to  Peter,  and  blushing  very  much, 

"  These  are  for  the  lady,  if  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  give 
them  to  her — and  this  basket  of  strawberries ;  and  here  is 
one  for  yourself,  sir,  if  you  will  please  accept  it " 

"  Bless  your  young  hearts,  to  think  of  the  old  sailor.  I 
thank  you  kindly,  boys ;  but,"  putting  his  face  down  to  Jim 
and  whispering,  "  you  won't  mind  my  giving  them  to  this 
little  pet  of  mine" — then  raising  himself  up , — "  here,  Susie, 
you  carry  these  flowers  to  your  Ma,  and  I'll  carry  the  straw 
berries  ;" — then  stooping  down  again,  and  speaking  in  a  low 
voice. — "the  Major  will  be  here  pretty  soon ;  he's  busy  now 
— you  won't  be  none  the  loser  for  these,  I  tell  you.  He's  a 
real  gentleman,  and  a  liberal  soul,  and  he's  got  plenty  to  do 
with."  And  the  old  man  shook  his  head  very  knowingly, 
making  his  long  queue,  as  it  stuck  out  in  the  air,  perform 
some  strange  manreuvres ;  the  boys,  however,  were  diverted 
from  observing  its  wonderful  gyrations  by  a  sudden  attrac 
tion  towards  the  flowers.  It  must  have  been  that  Peter's 
rapturous  praises,  or  the  delight  which  they  seem  to  have 
afforded  Miss  Susan,  had  unfolded  new  beauties  to  our  boys, 
for  their  eyes  followed  t/te flowers,  even  when  the  young  lady 


I'VE   BEEN    THINKING.  35 

buried  her  pretty  face  among  them  to  enjoy  a  fulness  of  their 
fragrance — it  could  not  possibly  have  been  any  thing  else, 
Sam  was  so  very  bashful,  and  Jim  so  very  discreet — but 
their  eyes  followed  the  flowers,  even  until  the  lovely  little 
maiden  that  carried  them  was  lost  to  their  view  and  entered 
the  castle  gate. 

Major  Morris  appeared  well  pleased  with  the  variety 
Jim  had  brought,  and  arranged  every  thing,  as  to  price  and 
measurement,  in  the  same  business  manner  as  before.  He 
then  proceeded  to  speak  with  him  in  reference  to  a  supply 
for  the  ensuing  winter,  enumerating  a  variety  of  articles,  and 
among  them  beans  and  potatoes. 

"  Potatoes  we  shall  have,  sir,  and  perhaps  a  few  beans.11 

"  I  wish  to  engage  three  hundred  bushels  of  potatoes,  to 
be  well  selected  and  of  good  size,  and  fifty  bushels  of  beans. 
If  you  choose  to  make  a  contract  to  deliver  me  these  articles 
in  the  fall," — at  the  same  time  handing  to  Jim  a  strip  of  paper 
with  the  prices  annexed — "  on  these  terms,  you  can  do  so  ; 
and  if  you  have  not  so  many  of  your  own,  you  can  doubtless 
purchase  them  of  your  neighbors,  so  as  to  pay  you  well  for 
your  trouble." 

The  boys  were  so  confounded  by  the  magnitude  of  the 
business  proposed  to  them,  that  when  the  Major  ceased 
speaking,  Sam  looked  at  Jim  and  he  at  Sam,  and  neither  of 
them  the  wiser  for  any  thing  gained  from  the  countenance 
of  the  other — until  Sam,  as  though  it  was  more  than  he  could 
stand  under,  sat  down ;  in  doing  so,  however,  he  stumbled 
over  his  clams  and  oysters,  which  attracted  the  notice  of  the 
Major  to  them.  . 

"  Ah,  what  have  you  there  1  clams  and  oysters  ?  I  had 
like  to  have  forgotten  to  inquire  for  them." 

This  brought  Sam  to  his  senses  again  ;  clams  and  oysters, 
almost  in  any  quantities,  were  familiar  to  him,  but  where 
three  hundred  bushels  of  potatoes  and  fifty  bushels  of  beans 
were  to  come  from,  was  beyond  his  comprehension.  He  soon 
had  his  part  of  the  cargo  on  shore,  and  as  Major  Morris 
handed  him  the  money,  thanked  him  in  a  very  civil  manner. 

It  was  some  time  before  Jim  gave  any  reply  to  the  pro 
posal  which  had  been  made  to  him,  he  was  so  absorbed  in 
thinking  ;  his  mind  had  to  run  over  all  the  names  of  persons 
likely  to  have  such  articles  for  sale,  and  the  probable  quan 
tity  each  might  be  willing  to  spare.  At  length,  after  thank- 


36  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

ing  Major  Morris  for  giving  him  such  a  chance, — for  he  had 
sense  enough  to  perceive  that  it  was  all  in  kindness  that  the 
offer  had  been  made, — he  agreed  to  accept  it. 

"  And  now,  my  lads,  you  must  go  with  me,  as  Mrs.  Morris 
wishes  to  thank  you  personally  for  the  flowers  and  fruit." 

Again,  the  boy«  looked  at  each  other,  and  Sam  turned 
very  pale  and  then  very  red ;  and  finally  sat  down,  and  made 
signs  to  Jim  to  go  along. 

Jim  knew  that  it  would  not  be  proper  to  hesitate  under 
such  circumstances,  so  he  prepared  at  once  to  follow  ;  while 
Peter,  who  always  observed  the  most  perfect  silence  in  the 
presence  of  the  Major,  as  soon  as  he  saw  him  on  the  way  to 
the  fort,  began  to  make  the  most  furious  gestures  imaginable, 
motioning  with  his  head  so  violently,  that  his  queue  flew 
round  behind  him  like  a  fly-brush ;  and  when  he  thought 
there  was  no  danger  of  being  overheard, 

"  Go  along,  go  along,  I  say  !  he's  axed  you  himself — go 
along ;  it  will  be  the  makin'  of  you." 

But  it  was  of  no  avail.  Sam  shook  his  head  and  sat  still, 
until  the  old  man  having  exhausted  his  means  of  persuasion, 
took  a  seat  beside  him,  muttering  something  about  "  dumb 
founded  perverseness." 

Jim  had  a  great  curiosity  to  see  what  was  within  the 
walls  of  the  fort ;  but  he  had  only  time  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
large  guns  on  wheel-carriages,  and  soldiers  with  glittering 
muskets ;  for  Major  Morris  passed  quickly  on,  and  opening 
a  side  door  in  the  hall,  was  at  once  in  an  elegantly  furnished 
apartment,  and  in  the  presence  of  several  fine-looking  ladies, 
and  the  little  girl,  who  still  held  the  bunch  of  flowers  in  close 
contact  with  her  face. 

Jim  was  not  allowed  to  suffer  the  least  embarrassment ; 
for  immediately  on  his  entrance,  Mrs.  Morris  arose,  and  com 
ing  toward  him  with  a  pleasant  smile  and  kindly  salutation, 
thanked  him  so  heartily  for  the  present  he  had  sent  to  her, 
and  talked  so  familiarly  with  him  about  his  home  and  his 
garden,  that  he  felt  as  much  freedom  as  though  he  had  been 
long  acquainted. 

"  I  regret  exceedingly,"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  "  that  I  have 
nothing  to  offer  you  in  return  for  such  beautiful  fruit ;  but 
you  must  not  refuse  to  taste  some  of  my  cake.  Susie,  lay 
down  your  flowers,  if  you  can  part  with  them  so  long,  and 
hand  that  plate  to  this  young  gentleman." 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  37 

Susie  did  at  once  as  she  was  bidden :  but  she  looked 
so  very  serious  about  it,  and  walked  so  very  slow,  that  Jim 
would  just  at  that  moment  have  preferred  being  in  the  boat 
by  the  side  of  Sam.  She  came  directly  towards  him  with  the 
silver  plate  in  her  hand,  and  some  rich-looking  cake  lying  on 
it ;  so  he  had  no  alternative,  but  to  step  towards  her,  and  in 
the  politest  manner  he  could,  select  a  piece.  His  attention 
was,  of  necessity,  directed  to  the  plate ;  but  he  could  not 
help  giving  a  glance  at  other  things  ; — and  indeed,  Jim,  you 
are  not  to  blame  for  blushing  as  you  did,  when  you  encoun 
tered  the  gaze  of  those  sweet  blue  eyes,  which,  in  all  the 
unaffected  simplicity  of  youth,  were  fastened  upon  you. 
Susie  was  not  conscious  of  her  own  beauty,  nor  of  its  power 
on  other  people,  or  she  would  never  have  done  so.  Her 
golden-colored  hair,  parted  so  smoothly  from  the  fair  forehead, 
and  hanging  in  such  a  cluster  of  curls  upon  her  snow-white 
neck — the  rich  color  that  painted  her  parting  lips,  and  just 
tinged  with  the  slightest  blush  her  dimpled  cheek,  were  all 
unnoticed  by  her.  She  meant  nothing  by  her  gaze ;  it  was 
only  the  expression  of  an  innocent  curiosity,  in  reference  to 
the  young  gentleman  she  was  waiting  upon.  His  clothes, 
to  be  sure,  were  coarse,  and  such  as  well  became  the  work 
in  which  he  was  engaged  ;  but  his  collar  was  very  white,  and 
neatly  tied  with  a  black  ribbon ;  and  his  light-brown  hair,  so  soft 
and  silky ;  his  fair  complexion,  his  pleasant  voice,  and  good 
manners,  all  made  a  contrast  which  she  did  not  understand ; 
and  it  would  seem  that  some  of  the  company  present,  much 
older  than  Susie,  were  equally  surprised. 

"  What  a  fine  manly-looking  boy  !  and  how  well  he  be- 
iayes,"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  as  soon  as  Jim  had  retired,  to  an 
elderly  lady  richly  dressed,  and  who,  from  the  peculiar  glance 
she  gave  to  another  lady  much  younger  than  herself,  while 
Mrs.  Morris  and  Susie  were  paying  so  much  attention  to 
our  Jim,  felt  any  thing  but  satisfied  at  the  scene. 

"  I  say,  aunt,  what  a  fine  little  fellow  that  is  !" 

"  Well,  Lettie,"  said  the  elderly  lady,  shaking  her  sides 
a  little,  as  though  it  was  something  so  ludicrous  that  she 
must  laugh — she  could  not  help  it,  "  I  didn't  see  any  thing 
very  extraordinary.  Where  is  he  from  ? — who  is  he  1 — a  son 
of  some  of  the  gentlemen  down  in  the  pines  here  ?  Mary 
and  I  saw  some  specimens  of  their  houses — a  mansion  or 
two ;"  and  the  old  lady  laughed  so  heartily,  that  she  could 


38  JAMES   MONTJOY  J     OR, 

say  nothing  more,  and  the  young  lady  had  to  put  her 
handkerchief  to  her  face  to  hide  the  emotion  which  was 
agitating  her.  Mrs.  Morris  was  aware  of  the  peculiarities 
of  this  lady,  an  aunt  of  her  husband's,  and  as  she  uninten 
tionally  had  opened  the  way  for  a  long  lecture  on  the  plebeian 
notions  of  herself  and  husband,  she  was  much  relieved  by 
the  entrance  of  the  Major,  who,  full  of  praises  of  "those 
manly  little  fellows,"  as  he  called  Jim  and  Sam,  whom  he 
had  just  parted  with,  drew  upon  himself  the  storm  which 
Mrs.  Morris  came  near  enduring  alone. 

"  I  felt  disposed  to  laugh,  I  must  say,  Philip,"  addressing 
the  Major,  "  to  see  Lettie  paying  as  much  personal  respect 
and  attention  to  a  little  market  boy,  as  it  seems  he  is, 
as  though  he  had  belonged  to  one  of  our  best  and  most 
respectable  families  ; — I  say.  I  felt  at  first  disposed  to  laugh, 
but  I  must  say,  Philip,"  and  the  old  lady  straightened  her 
self  in  a  very  decided  manner,  and  began  fanning  herself 
very  earnestly — "  I  must  say,  that  when  I  saw  that  dear 
child,  at  her  mother's  bidding,  waiting  upon  a  young  clown 
as  though  he  had  been  a  very  gentleman,  and  when  I  thought 
what  blood  ran  in  her  veins,  it  fired  my  indignation.  Such 
things  ought  not  to  be,  Philip,  you  will  demolish  all  distinc 
tions  in  society,  or  at  any  rate,  bring  your  own  family  to  feel 
that  it  is  no  matter  whom  they  associate  with,  and  that  one 
is  as  good  as  another." 

The  Major  suffered  his  aunt  to  "  say  her  say  out,"  and. 
knowing  as  he  did  what  reason  he  had  personally  to  set  a 
high  estimate  on  the  pedigree  to  which  she  seemed  to  think 
it  was  such  an  honor  to  be  allied,  was  designing  some  palpa 
ble  hits  for  the  special  benefit  of  his  kindred,  drawn  from  hi^ 
own  experience ;  but  being  a  wise  man,  as  well  as  a  noble- 
hearted  one,  he  concluded  to  treat  the  matter  as  he  saw  his 
wife  was  doing,  and  laugh  it  off. 

"  Why,  aunt !  I  thought  you  had  given  me  up  long  ago 
as  an  incorrigible  boy,  who  would  have  his  own  way.  You 
know,  aunt,  I  began  very  early  in  life  to  do  as  I  pleased,  and 
having  worked  my  own  way  up  the  ladder  so  far,  it  is  not 
strange  if  I  should  be  a  little  headstrong,  or  my  notions  of 
such  matters  as  you  have  touched  upon  somewhat  peculiar." 

His  good  aunt  had  heard  enough  to  refresh  her  memory 
on  a  matter,  that,  now  the  subject  of  it  had.  as  he  reminded 
her,  raised  himself  to  distinction,  she,  as  well  as  the  rest  of 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  39 

his  kindred,  would  have  been  willing  should  pass  into  obli 
vion  ;  and  was  well  satisfied  when  the  Major  invited  her  and 
the  other  ladies  to  walk  with  him  upon  the  ramparts  to  wit 
ness  a  fine  sight,  the  passing  of  a  ship  of  the  largest  class, 
under  full  sail. 

This  lady  and  her  daughter  will  not  be  subjects  of  our 
story ;  so  I  will  not  trouble  the  reader  with  any  further  de 
scription  of  them.  They  belong  to  a  class  often  met  with 
in  the  common  walks  of  life,  who,  because  of  some  imaginary 
value  which  they  attach  to  the  ancestry  from  which  they 
have  descended,  gauge  their  estimate  of  others  by  what  they 
think  to  be  the  equality  or  inequality  of  their  station  to  that 
which  they  suppose  themselves  to  occupy.  Major  Morris 
estimated  society  by  a  different  standard ;  and  as  we  shall 
have  much  to  do  with  him,  it  may  be  well  to  trace  the  causes 
which  led  him  thus  to  judge. 

He  was  born  in  a  part  of  our  country,  where  the  distinc 
tions  which  formerly  prevailed  between  the  classes  of  society 
were  still  kept  up.  His  parents  were  allied  to  those  who 
claimed  the  higher  ranks  of  life  as  theirs  by  birth,  and  strug 
gled  hard  to  maintain  their  station :  but  poverty  and  death 
are  great  levellers ;  and  young  Morris  found  himself,  at 
twelve  years  of  age.  an  orphan,  without  a  home  or  the  means 
of  support,  except  that  which  was  afforded  him  by  the  charity 
of  his  kindred.  He  was  invited  by  an  uncle  to  make  his 
house  a  home,  and  for  a  while  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  dwell 
ing  within  a  splendid  mansion,  and  faring  sumptuously,  and 
mingling  amongst  the  gay  youth  that  thronged  where  abun 
dance  flowed.  But  he  soon  found  that  poverty  was  thought 
to  be  a  disgrace,  even  in  nearest  kin,  by  those  who  would 
have  scorned  the  idea  of  his  engaging  in  any  lawful  calling 
whereby  he  could  have  earned  his  bread,  if  that  calling  was 
not  one  which,  in  their  view,  his  peculiar  class  could  engage 
in.  Young  Morris  knew  nothing  of  such  distinctions  ;  but 
he  knew  that  he  was  poor,  and  was  made  on  more  than  one 
occasion  to  feel  his  dependence.  His  proud  spirit  rebelled  ; 
he  left  his  place  of  refuge,  and  took  shelter  beneath  the  roof 
of  a  poor  family,  with  whom  he  labored  for  a  time  most 
cheerfully  in  earning  his  daily  bread.  From  thence  he  ob 
tained  employment  in  one  of  our  large  cities,  in  the  mercan 
tile  line ;  but  as  he  reached  the  age  in  which  generally  a 
choice  is  made  of  an  occupation  for  life,  his  feelings  prompted 


40  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

to  the  military  profession.  Through  the  influence  of  a  friend 
whom  his  own  correct  deportment  had  gained,  he  obtained  a 
commission.  His  strict  attention  to  all  the  rules  of  the  ser 
vice,  his  entire  devotedness  to  every  duty  committed  to  him, 
and  his  well-established  reputation  as  a  noble-minded  and 
chivalrous  officer,  gave  him  favor  in  high  places,  and  he  rose 
rapidly  to  the  grade  he  then  held.  To  a  commanding  ap 
pearance  and  most  polished  manners,  he  united  a  kind  and 
benevolent  heart ;  warm  in  its  sympathies  towards  every 
object  of  distress,  he  would  have  poured  out  full  streams  to 
every  child  of  want,  to  the  very  extent  of  his  ability.  But 
well  for  him,  as  for  those  he  would  aid,  he  had  learned  not 
only  to  bring  others  under  wholesome  discipline,  but  himself 
also ;  he  had  learned  that  some  of  our  best  feelings  must  be 
under  subjection  to  prudent  counsel,  and  that  he  who  scat 
ters  in  profusion,  even  from  the  promptings  of  a  noble  heart, 
is  as  likely  to  do  evil  as  good.  He  had  abundance  to  be 
stow,  for  he  had  married  a  lady  of  great  wealth,  and  the 
whole  responsibility  of  its  proper  use  was  devolved  on  him ; 
his  lovely  wife  had  not  only  committed  herself,  but  all  she 
possessed,  entirely  to  him.  "  She  wanted  nothing  to  call  her 
own,"  she  said,  "  but  her  husband's  heart." 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  gratifying  to  Major  Morris 
than  his  introduction  to  our  boys ;  he  could  sympathize  in 
their  feelings;  he  i could  value  properly  their  enterprising 
spirit,  and  he  had  an  opportunity  to  indulge  his  kindness  of 
heart  in  a  way  that  would  stimulate  them  to  exertion. 

It  would  be  no  easy  task  to  describe  the  happiness  which 
our  boys,  Jim  and  Sam,  enjoyed,  as  they  drew  their  skiif  to 
shore  that  evening,  and  separated,  each  for  their  several 
homes.  Sam  found  every  thing  as  peaceful  as  his  heart  could 
wish,  while  the  wonderful  story  which  he  had  to  tell,  excited 
the  astonishment  of  his  parents. 

"  I  don't  believe  tho',  Sammy,"  said  his  father,  "you  will 
find  so  many  beans  and  potatoes  to  sell  in  all  this  place  ;  and 
then  I  don't  see  how  you  are  goin'  to  carry  them,  nor  how 
you  are  goin'  to  pay  for  them." 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  it,  Pa ;  but  I  guess  Jim  will 
work  it  out  some  way ;  he  didn't  hardly  speak  a  word  all 
the  way  home ;  he  was  thinking,  I  know." 

'•  Perhaps  he  may  manage  it,  somehow,  but  I  don't  well 
see  through  it  all,  Sammy  ;  I  can't  do  much  for  you  myself, 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  41 

only  if  I  had  the  stuff,  I  might  build  you  a  bigger  boat,  and 
one  that  would  stand  the  waves  better  than  the  old  one  you've 
got." 

"  Oh,  would  you,  Pa  ?"  and  Sam's  eyes  began  to  glisten, 
and  his  mother,  good  soul,  had  to  wipe  away  the  tears  that 
her  joyful  heart  could  not  restrain ; — some  of  the  may-bes 
which  had  so  lately  played  in  pleasant  vision  before  her,  were 
indeed  realized. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  place  where  the  scene  of  this  story  is  laid,  I  have 
said,  was  a  lone  village  ;  it  had  no  communication  with  other 
places  by  means  of  boats,  although  its  water  privileges  were 
abundant ;  and  between  it  and  neighboring  towns  intervened 
an  extent  of  country,  consisting  of  pine-barrens,  where  no 
settlements  could  exist,  or  at  least  any  that  deserved  the 
name.  There  were  those,  however,  who  dwelt  amid  its  dreary 
solitudes  and  called  it  home  ; — scattered  here  and  there  upon 
an  area  of  ten  to  fifteen  miles  square,  might  be  seen,  some 
times  alone,  and  sometimes  in  clusters  of  three  or  four,  a  few 
miserable  dwellings,  made  principally  of  logs.  A  door,  and 
one  window  without  glass,  were  the  only  openings  to  these 
abodes  ;  and  a  rude  chimney  running  up  against  the  outside, 
formed  a  receptacle  for  the  pine  logs,  which  blazed  often 
through  the  long  winter  nights,  the  only  light  they  could 
afford,  as  well  as  almost  their  only  protection  from  the  search 
ing  cold. 

Poverty  and  wretchedness  generally  make  sad  havoc  with 
the  human  frame ;  the  haggard  countenance,  the  dry  and 
skinny  hands,  the  stoop,  the  feeble,  tottering  gait,  we  expect 
and  look  for,  when  visiting  abodes  that  betoken  destitution. 
But  miserable  as  was  the  appearance  of  these  dwellings,  the 
aspect  of  their  inhabitants  was  generally  that  of  health  and 
sufficiency ;  their  swarthy  complexions,  and  fine  athletic 
forms,  almost  compelled  the  traveller  through  these  lonely 
regions  to  believe  that  he  had  alighted  upon  a  tribe  of  those 
sons  of  the  forest,  who  once  called  our  country  all  their  own. 


42  JAMES   MONT  JOY,'     OR, 


The  moral  character  of  this  people  was  in  keeping  with 
the  aspect  of  their  dwellings.  Having  no  regular  religious  in 
struction,  seldom  hearing  the  voice  of  a  living  teacher,  with 
scarce  a  Bible  to  be  found  within  their  gloomy  houses,  they 
were  but  little  in  advance  of  the  heathen  as  to  religious 
knowledge,  and  far  too  near  allied  to  them  in  many  of  their 
vicious  habits. 

They  earned  their  daily  bread  by  laboring  amid  the  lofty 
and  dense  forests,  in  levelling  the  majestic  pines,  cutting 
them  into  lengths  suitable  for  transportation,  and  conveying 
them  to  the  outskirts  of  the  barrens :  their  hire  was  but  a 
pittance  when  considered  as  a  remuneration  for  their  toil,  but 
it  enabled  them  to  live  ;  it  procured  for  them  food,  coarse  in 
deed,  but  enough  to  satisfy  their  appetite  and  the  plain  and 
simple  clothing,  which  necessity  demanded,  or  to  which  per 
haps  their  taste  aspired. 

The  owners  of  these  forests  lived  at  some  distance,  and 
employed  an  agent  to  attend  to  all  the  various  labors  of  pre 
paring  the  timber  and  conveying  it  to  market. 

Cross,  the  individual  employed  for  this  business,  had 
grown  up  amid  these  solitudes,  and  labored  with  his  axe  for 
some  years.  Gifted  by  nature  with  shrewdness,  and  not  very 
particular  on  the  score  of  morality,  he  had  managed  to  obtain 
the  post  he  occupied,  and  with  most  of  the  proprietors  stood 
on  good  terms ;  he  was  active,  prompt  and  efficient,  and  per 
haps,  for  the  business  intrusted  to  him,  did  as  well  as  any 
one  could.  But  he  was,  beyond  measure,  grasping  and  avari 
cious  ;  and  as  he  could  not  well  gain  undue  advantage  from 
those  who  employed  him,  being  bound  by  contracts  not  easily 
evaded,  he  made  up  such  deficiency  by  "  grinding  the  faces  " 
of  the  poor  laborers. 

Without  any  means  of  gaining  a  livelihood  besides,  they 
had  become  entirely  dependent  on  the  good  will  of  Mr. 
Cross.  He  fixed  their  wages,  supplied  them  from  his  store 
with  the  necessaries  of  life  at  his  own  price,  and  in  that  way 
managed  to  bring  them,  at  the  close  of  every  month,  either 
without  any  surplus,  or  most  generally  a  trifle  in  debt. 

On  the  border  of  these  barrens,  and  near  the  principal 
scene  of  our  story,  lived  the  Widow  Mary  Brown ;  her  hus 
band  had  been  one  of  the  woodcutters,  an  intemperate  man, 
who  had  caused  her  much,  trouble  while  he  lived,  and  when 
he  died  left  her  with  two  orphans.  She  had  to  struggle  hard 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  43 


to  support  herself  and  little  ones.  But  as  a  light  in  a  dark 
place,  was  this  widow  among  these  outcasts.  She  was  gene 
rally  known  throughout  the  region  where  she  lived,  and  the 
wildest  and  most  abandoned  never  brought  against  her  a 
railing  accusation  ;  they  never  spoke  lightly  of  her  nor  her 
religion,  for  the  garb  of  piety  she  wore  was  so  unassuming, 
the  light  that  shone  around  her  humble  path  was  so  mild 
and  unobtrusive, 

Like  the  soft  fleecy  cloud  at  the  close  of  day, 
That  far  in  the  west  where  the  sun's  last  ray 
Rests  bright  on  its  bosom — its  mellow  light 
Steals  to  our  heart,  as  we  gaze  in  delight ; 
No  glare  to  dazzle,  we  love  to  view 
Its  changing  tints  and  its  golden  hue. 

Having  a  very  humbling  view  of  herself,  she  felt  great 
pity  for  the  deluded  ones  around  her;  she  never  chid  them 
for  their  follies,  but  would  weep  and  pray  in  secret,  and  when 
called  to  watch  at  their  dying  bed,  she  had  such  a  quiet, 
happy  way  of  holding  up  before  the  weak  and  guilty  spirit, 
the  Saviour  in  his  love  and  pity,  that  many  a  poor  wanderer 
took  courage  from  her  message  of  mercy,  and  ere  the  spirit 
fled,  it  was  enabled  to  look  in  faith  and  go  its  lone  way  in 
peace.  Wherever  sorrow  or  sickness  visited,  there  was  she 
sent  for.  as  one  who  carried  with  her  a  charm  that  could 
neutralize  their  power. 

Her  dwelling  was  a  log  hut  like  those  in  that  vicinity, 
but  it  had  an  air  of  comfort  the  others  had  not.  Her  plain 
door  was  whitewashed,  and  a  little  curtain  hung  across  the 
window ;  and  there  was  a  box  of  flowers  by  the  step,  and 
every  useless  thing  was  removed  from  around  the  house,  and 
the  ground  swept  neatly,  and  beneath  some  of  the  large  pines 
that  afforded  a  grateful  shade  to  her  lonely  abode,  were  rude 
seats,  as  though  made  for  the  wayfaring  man,  on  which  to 
rest  and  be  refreshed. 

Her  children,  though  helpless  little  ones  when  their 
father  died,  had  now  grown  up  to  an  age  when  each  of  them, 
in  different  ways,  could  materially  aid  her.  She  felt  no  longer 
a  dread  of  want,  although  often  sighing  in  secret  that  her  son 
was  compelled  to  labor  with  those  whose  example  could  only 
lead  astray,  and  that  her  daughter  had  no  brighter  prospect 
than  a  residence  among  these  uncultivated  foresters.  But 


44  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

she  had  done  what  she  could.  Of  worldly  wisdom  she  knew 
nothing  ;  but  she  had  a  Bible,  and  could  read  it.  Its  require 
ments  and  its  doctrines  were  all  plain  to  her,  she  loved  them 
and  taught  them  to  her  children  ;  they  learned  passages 
from  them  on  the  long,  still  Sabbath  days ;  and  as  she  sat  in. 
the  shade  of  the  large  pines  by  her  door,  they  would  come 
and  sit  near  h...r,  to  hear  and  listen  to  some  story  she  would 
tell  them  of  those  whose  names  have  been  recorded,  and  their 
history  handei".  down  for  the  benefit  of  every  coming  genera 
tion.  But  other  influences  have  now  begun  to  exert  a  coun 
teracting  power ;  William  is  eighteen,  a  man  in  size  and 
strength,  a  hardy  laborer,  and  much  from  home.  He  still 
brings  all  he  earns,  or  nearly  all,  to  the  common  stock ;  he 
still  reverences  his  mother,  and  listens  to  her  instructions, 
and  treats  with  kindness  his  only  sister ;  but  rumors  have 
reached  his  home  that  his  chosen  associates  were  some  whose 
names  had  become  by-words  for  rude  and  evil  doings,  and 
any  heart  but  a  mother's  would  have  given  up  his  chance 
for  any  future  good. 

"  She  had  hope  for  William,"  she  said,  "  although  he 
might  be  led  astray  by  evil  companions. 

And  she  had  good  cause  for  hoping — for  she  had  fastened 
to  his  heart  that  golden  chain,  each  link  of  which  a  mother's 
prayers  and  gentle  teachings  and  untiring  love  had  formed ; 
he  felt  its  power  even  in  his  hours  of  revelling,  and  although 
he  never  met  with  an  upbraiding  word  or  look  from  her,  hia 
conscience  had  no  rest. 

The  daughter  was  all  that  her  mother  could  ask  ;  she  had 
no  desire  to  depart  from  the  beautiful  precepts  of  the  Bible 
— because  she  loved  them.  Her  mind  was  active,  thoughtful 
and  discerning  beyond  her  years  ;  of  kind  and  generous  dis 
position,  ever  ready  for  any  work  of  love,  and  cheerful  and 
happy  in  the  consciousness  of  good  will  to  all.  Her  moral 
character  was  well  matched  with  a  beauty  of  person  rarely 
found,  even  under  every  advantage.  Hettie  had  no  ornaments 
to  set  off  her  beauty,  and  no  graces  imparted  by  culture  to 
heighten  the  natural  ease  of  her  movements  ;  her  complexion, 
though  cJark.  was  brightened  by  the  rich  color  which  adorned 
her  cheeks,  and  her  jet-black  eyes  were  softened  by  the  long 
dark  lashes,  that  gave  to  their  expression  almost  the  languor 
of  a  southern  clime,  while  her  dark  hair  dangled  in  luxu 
riant  curls,  very  much  to  her  annoyance,  for  she  often  said : 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  45 

"  She  did  wish  her  hair  was  straight  like  other  girls ;  it 
was  always  getting  into  such  a  tangle." 

As  Mrs.  Brown,  or  the  Widow  Brown,  as  she  was  univer 
sally  called,  lived  nearer  to  the  open  and  more  cultivated 
settlement,  than  any  of  the  other  inhabitants  of  the  barrens., 
she  was  well  known  among  the  farmers'  families,  although  inti 
mate  with  very  few.  Hettie  had  some  associates  there,  which 
her  mother  preferred  for  her  to  those  in  her  own  immediate 
vicinity  Of  these,  the  family  of  the  Widow  Andrews  was 
one  to  which  they  were  peculiarly  attached.  They  could 
sympathize  with  each  other  ;  the  mothers  were  both  widows, 
and  each  had  two  children  of  about  the  same  age.  They  both 
loved  good  things ;  they  could  converse  about  their  past 
trials,  and  present  hopes  and  fears.  But  while  many  things 
in  their  circumstances  were  similar,  there  were  others  in 
which  they  were  very  unlike  to  each  other  ;  for  the  Widow 
Andrews  was  much  under  the  power  of  strong  natural  feel 
ings,  easily  excited  by  joy  or  grief,  and  her  passions  when 
aroused,  seemed  at  times  to  know  no  bounds  :  no  sooner  was  a 
chord  struck  that  touched  a  tender  point  in  her  heart,  than 
she  would  begin  to  talk  very  rapidly  and  to  weep  freely  ;  her 
words  flowing  faster  and  faster,  and  louder  and  louder,  until, 
between  weeping  and  talking,  she  would  finally  break  into  a 
flood  of  tears,  and  all  was  over. 

The  Widow  Brown  was  aware  of  this  weakness  in  her 
neighbor,  and  lamented  it ;  for  she  knew  that  at  times  it  did 
real  evil ;  but  there  were  so  many  things  that  she  loved  her 
for.  this  she  considered  as  a  mere  weakness,  for  which  she 
should  be  pitied. 

In  reference  to  worldly  goods,  too,  there  was  a  dissimi 
larity.  The  Widow  Andrews  had  a  much  better  house, 
although  a  very  plain  one ;  still  it  was  called  a  house, 
and  not  a  log  hut ;  and  she  had  a  few  acres  of  land  attached 
to  it,  and  a  small  barn,  old  and  shackling  to  be  sure,  and  a 
few  head  of  cattle,  and  had  been  enabled,  hitherto,  to  make 
out  to  live  in  a  very  frugal  way  from  her  own  resources. 

Mary,  her  daughter,  was  not  pretty,  like  Hettie  Brown, 
nor  was  she  so  intelligent ;  but  she  had  a  kind  heart,  and 
was  obedient  to  her  mother,  and  being  about  Hettie's  age,  the 
two  girls  became  much  attached. 

The  son  had  promised  fair  to  be  a  support  to  his  mother, 
and  a  good  member  of  society,  but  a  dark  cloud  had  arisen 


46  JAMES    MONTJOY  ;     OR, 


upon  all  such  prospects ;  bad  company  had  now  begun  to 
have  attractions  for  him.  He  neglected  his  work,  disobeyed 
his  mother,  lost  his  ambition,  and  was  in  a  fair  way  to  make 
a  wreck  of  body  and  soul.  His  mother  had  been  proud  of 
her  William — of  his  good  behavior,  of  his  efficiency  at  work, 
of  his  industrious  habits ;  and  not  a  little  proud  was  she  of 
his  fine  appearance — it  was  a  mother's  weakness ;  but  we 
will  not  judge  her  harshly.  He  had,  indeed,  a  very  pleasant 
expression  to  his  countenance  ;  his  lively  eye  looked  so  kindly 
at  you ;  there  was  such  a  play  of  roguishness  and«good- 
nature  about  his  mouth  ;  and  when  he  spoke,  a  musical  voice 
brought  out  the  words  so  soft  and  clear — all  tended  to  inter 
est  both  friends  and  strangers.  But  all  the  love  which  his 
mother  bore  towards  him,  and  all  her  pride  in  him,  caused 
her  to  be  more  violent  in  her  rebukes.  She  poured  out  such 
a  torrent  of  invective  at  him,  that  much  as  he  felt  he  de 
served  her  displeasure,  he  could  not  stand  the  violence  of  it. 
Every  bad  feeling  of  his  heart  was  aroused ;  he  began  to 
dread  his  home  and  his  mother's  voice,  and  sought  refuge 
where,  alas  !  ruin  alone  could  be  the  end  thereof. 

He  was  now  eighteen  years  of  age,  and  as  my  reader 
was  first  introduced  to  him  at  Mr.  Grizzle's  store,  we  will 
follow  him  as  he  left  that  den  of  evil.  His  conscience  was 
troubled,  there  was  something  in  the  appearance  and  behavior 
of  Sam  Oakum  that  morning,  that  revived  the  memory  of 
what  he  himself  had  once  been.  We  saw  how  he  watched 
Sam  when  he  left  the  store,  as  far  as  his  eye  could  follow 
him ;  how  madly  he  poured  down  the  offered  glass,  and 
rushed  from  the  scene  of  his  shame. 

Whither  to  direct  his  steps  he  knew  not,  but  onward  he 
went ;  he  was  glad  to  be  in  the  open  air,  it  was  so  much  bet 
ter  than  the  poisonous  atmosphere  he  had  just  left.  Soon 
his  attention  was  arrested  by  the  appearance  of  a  dwelling 
and  its  precincts,  that  he  was  about  to  pass.  It  was  a  scene 
of  desolation, — the  house  and  all  its  accompaniments ;  the 
windows  stuffed  with  every  variety  of  color  and  substance, 
to  supply  the  places  of  broken  panes ;  the  door  hung  side 
ways  by  one  hinge,  the  boards  loose  and  flapping  against  the 
timbers  of  the  house,  the  roof  broken  in.  and  apparently 
ready  to  fall  upon  the  inmates,  and  the  inclosures  around 
the  place  lying  prostrate  or  scattered  about  the  grounds. 
A  woman  was  outside,  picking  up  what  rubbish  she  could 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  47 

meet  with,  to  replenish  the  fire ;  sorrow  was  plainly  marked 
upon  her  withered  features  ;  and  as  she  walked  into  the  house 
with  a  few  faggots  in  her  hand,  there  was  such  a  deadness  in 
her  step,  such  a  bowing  down  under  the  weight  of  some  too 
heavy  burden — ambition,  comfort,  hope,  all  seemed  to  have 
departed,  and  left  her  in  her  misery  with  a  broken  spirit. 

William  halted  in  his  rapid  course ;  he  looked  upon  the 
scene,  and  considered  it  well. 

This  was  the  house  of  one  of  those  whom  he  had  just 
left ;  the  one  most  forward  to  complain  of  bad  luck,  and  who 
joined  most  heartily  in  the  laugh  which  had  been  excited  at 
his  expense.  He  had  been  familiar  with  this  place :  often 
had  he  seen  it,  just  as  it  then  appeared,  but  never  had  its 
desolate  condition  aifected  him  before ; — a  light  from  heaven 
seemed  pouring  upon  it,  and  singling  it  out  from  all  other 
objects.  He  could  look  at  nothing  else.  "  It  was  the  vine 
yard  of  the  man  void  of  understanding,  and  the  field  of  the 
slothful ;  the  stone  wall  thereof  was  broken  down  ;  it  was  all 
grown  over  with  thorns,  and  nettles  covered  the  face  thereof." 

William  looked  upon  it  and  received  instruction  :  slowly 
and  sadly  he  passed  along. 

A  little  by-road  now  crossed  the  public  highway ;  instinc 
tively,  almost,  he  turned  into  it ; — the  trees  which  lined  it 
formed  a  grateful  shade,  and  seemed  to  invite  him  therein  to 
cool  his  heated,  feverish  frame. 

Near  to  this  path,  and  not  far  from  the  highway  he  had 
left,  was  a  pure,  bright,  bubbling  spring  ;  it  came  up  through 
the  clean  white  sand,  and  the  green  turf  formed  its  only 
curb.  On  one  side  it  had  cleared  an  opening,  and  meandered 
away  through  a  little  bed  of  fine  gravel  stones,  which  sparkled 
in  the  sunbeams  as  they  stole  through  the  branches  of  the 
willows  which  encircled  the  fountain.  His  throat  parched 
with  thirst,  and  his  mind  and  body  in  an  excited  condition, 
he  threw  himself  upon  the  velvet  turf  and  allayed  his  thirst 
from  the  pure  stream.  He  tried  to  think,  but  his  thoughts 
ran  wild  into  each  other ;  he  turned  his  head  towards  the 
roots  of  one  of  the  willows  and  rested  it  there ;  it  throbbed 
against  the  cool  green  turf;  its  coolness  was  refreshing  to 
him,  and  there  he  slept. 

Hettie  Brown  had  that  morning  left  her  home  in  the 
barrens,  to  dtf  an  errand  for  her  mother  in  Mr.  Grizzle's 
store ;  she  stopped  at  the  Widow  Andrews',  and  found  the 


48  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

mother  and  daughter  in  tears,  and  had  to  listen  to  a  long 
tale  of  William's  delinquencies. 

"  And  he's  gone  oft'  to  Grizzle's,  now  again,  I  know  he 
has,  and  there  he'll  sit  and  drink,  and  he'll  come  home  drunk 
yet,  one  of  these  days,  and  he'll  be  a  drunkard  and  a  vaga 
bond." 

And  the  good  woman  went  off  into  another  hard  crying 
spell.  Hettie  made  no  reply ;  she  was  not  in  the  habit  of 
talking  much,  nor  did  she  shed  any  tears ;  she  was  not  given 
to  that  either/  A  few  expressions  of  sympathy  she  dropped 
as  she  parted  from  Mary,  telling  her  to  hope  for  the  best, 
and  making  a  short  call,  went  on  her  way  to  the  store. 

She  was  anxious  to  see  William,  and  therefore  she  has 
tened  her  steps.  She  seemed  to  feel  a  consciousness  of  power 
to  lead  him  away  from  the  path  of  ruin.  He  had  been  her 
playmate  when  a  little  child,  nor  had  he  ever,  by  word  or 
deed,  done  aught  to  offend  her,  The  intimacy  of  childhood 
had  indeed  passed  away — her  wise  mother  had  cautioned 
her  on  matters  referring  especially  to  William,  and  of  late 
she  had  seldom  seen  him  ;  but  she  felt  that  she  possessed  an 
influence  over  him,  and  she  meant  now  to  exert  it. 

As  she  crossed  the  by-path  we  have  already  mentioned, 
she  thought  of  the  little  spring,  and  how  refreshing  it  would 
be  to  drink  of  its  cool  water.  She  turned,  and  followed  the 
path  towards  the  willows  which  marked  the  spot. 

When  William  Andrews  awoke,  it  was  from  a  troubled 
dream,  and  the  quiet  which  surrounded  him  was  grateful  to 
his  spirits.  He  arose  and  drank  freely  from  the  spring — 
the  birds  were  singing  sweetly  in  the  hedges  and  on  the 
trees ;  there  was  no  sound  beside,  but  the  rippling  of  the 
little  rill  that  stole  gently  away  from  the  fountain  where  he 
had  slaked  his  thirst.  His  feelings,  late  so  hurried  and 
disturbed,  were  calm, — the  storm  had  lulled — a  dark  and 
dreadful  gulf  seemed  to  have  been  passed,  and  now  he  was 
upon  a  path  where  all  above  and  around  him  combined  to 
make  it  light  and  pleasant.  This  change,  however,  was  but 
the  effect  of  that  rest  which  sleep  had  given  to  his  frame ; 
'twas  the  pure  fresh  feeling  which  the  soul  enjoys,  when 
waked  by  morning's  dawn,  before  the  hopes  and  fears,  the 
business  and  the  cares  of  life,  have  time  to  urge  their  claims. 
Scarce  had  he  quenched  his  thirst,  and  fully  awaked  to  a 
consciousness  of  his  situation,  ere  the  scenes  of  the  morning 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  49 

rushed  back  upon  him.  As  the  tumult  of  his  thoughts  arose, 
he  stood  and  leaned  against  one  of  the  willows,  and  cast  his 
eye  down  at  the  little  fountain,  bubbling  up  so  incessantly 
and  with  so  little  disturbance,  that  it  came  to  the  surface 
with  no  alloy  of  earth  about  it,  and  he  saw  how  fresh  and 
rank  was  the  greensward  all  along  its  course — it  not  only 
gave  from  its  little  receptacle  a  full  supply  for  all  who 
needed,  but  virtue  seemed  to  emanate  throughout  its  mean- 
derings,  and  to  bless  wherever  it  flowed. 

"  This  spring,"  said  he,  "  is  like  the  life  of  one  that  is 
good — pure  at  the  fountain,  and  the  whole  life  a  blessing, 
making  things  better  and  happier  all  around  him  ;  but  my 
life. — oh  what  has  it  been  ?"  And  his  cheek  flushed,  and 
tears  of  anguish  fell  fast,  while  with  hands  firmly  clasped, 
and  still  leaning  against  the  tree,  he  looked  down  at  the 
bubbling  water. 

«  Why  William  ! !" 

He  started  at  the  well  known  voice : 

"  Oh,  Hettie,  is  this  you  ?  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you." 

She  extended  her  hand  towards  him,  but  there  was  some 
thing  in  the  sight  of  Hettie  that  caused  the  cup,  already  full, 
to  overflow  ;  he  did  not  take  the  offered  hand,  but  covering 
his  face,  gave  way  to  a  passionate  burst  of  weeping. 

Hettie  was  much  surprised,  but  she  attempted  not  to 
interfere,  nor  did  she  weep  with  him,  but  waited  silently 
until  the  violence  of  the  storm  had  passed,  and  he  was  suffi 
ciently  composed  to  address  her. 

"  I  am  very  unhappy,  Hettie,  and  have  been  so  for  a  long 
time." 

"  I  have  thought  so,  William,  and  I  am  very  glad  of  an 
opportunity  to  say  something  to  you  about  it.  I  was  certain 
that  you  must  be  unhappy.  There  can  be  no  peace  for  us 
when  we  have  left  the  path  of  duty,  until  we  return  from  our 
crooked  ways  :  it  would  not  be  best  for  us,  that  we  should  be 
happy  when  our  doings  are  not  right." 

"  Well,  mine  are  not  right,  and  I  am  afraid  they  will 
never  be  any  better." 

"  Why  not,  William  ?  are  you  willing  still  to  be  unhappy, 
and  to  break  your  mother's  heart,  and  fill  the  minds  of  all 
your  friends  with  sorrow  ?"  And  as  Hettie  said  this,  her 
voice  trembled.  Had  an  electric  shock  passed  through  his 
frame,  it  could  not  have  affected  him  as  did  the  tremor  of 
3 


50  JAMES  MONTJOY:   OR, 


her  gentle  tones.  A  hope,  which  he  had  abandoned,  resumed  its 
power,  and,  as  though  all  other  things  worth  possessing  were 
linked  with  thoughts  of  her,  it  awoke  within  his  sunken 
heart  energies  well  nigh  blasted,  and  threw  upon  tie  dark 
cloud  which  enshrouded  him,  tinges  of  light  that  told  him 
of  a  bright  sun  behind  it.  His  eye  turned  full  upon  her, 
and  extending  his  hand,  which  she  readily  took, 

"  I  have  been  far  astray,  Hettie  ;  I  have  sunk  myself  very 
low,  and  have  struggled  hard  at  times  to  break  the  charm 
that  was  leading  me  to  ruin ;  but  I  feel  now  as  I  have  not 
felt  before  ;  and  if  you  will  only  not  despise  me,  if  you  will 
let  me  hope  that  a  new  course  of  life  may  yet  gain  your 
respect,  it  will  be  a  helper  to  me,  a  great  helper  to  me  ; — and 
oh  !  Hettie,  you  cannot  tell  how  much  I  need  your  aid." 

Hettie  was  wise  perhaps  beyond  her  years.  She  felt 
much  interest  for  the  youth  who  had  grown  with  her  from 
childhood,  and  perhaps  she  felt  more  than  she  would  dare 
acknowledge,  even  to  herself;  but  this  was  no  time  to  suffer 
any  expectations  to  be  raised  on  her  account,  and  she 
feared  for  a  reformation  based  on  aught  she  might  have  to 
yield. 

"  I  fear,  William,  that  the  struggle  you  will  be  compelled 
to  encounter,  will  need  help  greater  than  a  creature  can 
give.  You  must  look  to  Him  who  made  you,  and  relying 
on  his  strength,  resolve  to  do  your  duty,  cost  what  it  may. 
All  that  I  can  promise  is  my  feeble  prayer ;  and  whenever  I 
offer  it  for  myself,  I  will  offer  it  for  you  too,  William.  And 
now  I  must  leave  you,  for  I  have  an  errand  to  the  store, 
and  mother  will  be  uneasy  at  my  absence." 

And  the  happy  girl,  after  fixing  her  troublesome  curls, 
and  tying  her  little  straw  gipsy,  and  smiling  a  pleasant 
good-by,  went  on  her  way.  William  watched  her  until  she 
turned  into  the  public  road,  and  then,  with  one  strong  cry 
to  Heaven  for  help,  turned  towards  his  home,  a  happier 
person  than  he  had  been  for  many  long  months. 

He  had  resolved  to  do  right. 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  51 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE  difficulties  which  presented  themselves  to  our  boys  in 
fulfilling  the  engagement  they  had  made  with  Major  Morris, 
were  of  no  trifling  account,  for  it  was  a  great  question  if  so 
large  a  quantity  could  be  found  in  the  place,  above  what  was 
pledged  to  Mr.  Grizzle  for  debts  already  incurred.  Again, 
if  they  should  succeed  in  finding  the  quantity,  how  could 
they  pay  for  them?  and  lastly,  where  was  a  boat  to  be  pro 
cured  in  which  to  carry  them,  at  a  season  of  the  year  when 
storms  and  high  winds  were  to  be  expected  ?  But,  as  diffi 
culties  are  apt  to  vanish  before  a  resolute  mind,  our  Jim  felt 
not  at  all  daunted  by  them. 

He  had  resolved,  first  of  all,  to  make  a  thorough  trial  as 
to  the  possibility  of  finding  persons  willing  to  engage  specific 
quantities  to  him.  And  it  was  for  this  purpose  that  the 
boys  were  assembled  early  in  the  morning  of  a  bright  and 
beautiful  day  in  June  ;  Jim  and  Sam  to  go  on  the  expedition, 
and  Ned  to  see  them  off. 

"  Well,  boys,  I  hope  you'll  find  all  you  want ;  but  it  looks 
to  me  like  a  hard  case." 

"  So  it  does  to  me,  Ned,  too  ;  but  Jim  has  been  thinking 
it  all  out,  you  know.  I  should  feel  better,  however,  if  we 
knew  where  the  money  was  to  come  from  to  pay  for  them,  I 
do  hate  so  to  ask  folks  to  trust  us." 

"  I  have  no  idea,  Sam,  of  doing  any  such  thing  ;  I  mean  to 
offer  them  the  money  down,  as  soon  as  they  deliver  the 
potatoes." 

"  Just  hear  that,  Ned/'  said  Sam,  looking  verily  con 
founded. 

"  Well."  said  Ned,  kicking  away  a  small  stone  that  lay  in 
reach  of  his  foot,  '•  that  is  a  good  plan  enough,  if  one  had  the 
money ;  but  it  will  take  all  of  a  hundred  dollars ;  and  it 
looks  dark  to  me  where  such  a  sum  as  that  is  to  come  from." 

"  That  is  the  least  of  the  difficulties,  boys  ;  we  shall  make, 
I  hope,  by  our  summer's  work,  enough  money  to  pay  for 
twenty-five  bushels  of  potatoes,  which  will  be  the  most  we 
shall  be  able  to  carry  at  a  trip,  and  Major  Morris  will  pay  us 
for  them  as  we  deliver  them  to  him." 

Ned  and  Sam  looked  at  each  other.  "  I  told  you,  Ned, 
that  Jim  would  think  it  out  somehow." 


52  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 


"  And  besides,"  continued  Jim,  "  I  have  great  hope  that 
our  offering  them  the  money  on  delivery,  will  induce  them  to 
sell  to  us  in  preference  to  Grizzle.  But  what  troubles  me 
the  most  is  how  to  get  a  boat  sufficient  for  our  purpose." 

"  Supposing  I  should  say," — and  Sam's  bright  eyes 
sparkled  as  he  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  his  companions, 
while  a  smile  played  around  the  corners  of  his  mouth, — ''  I 
hope  to  have  a  good  new  boat,  not  very  handsome,  but  tight 
and  strong,  and  able  to  go  in  rough  weather,  and  carry 
twenty-five  bushels  of  potatoes  at  a  load ;  what  would  you 
say  to  that?" 

"  Now,  Sam  Oakum,  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  say.  Pa  told  me  last  night,  that  as 
soon  as  he  could  get  the  stuff,  he  would  go  right  to  work  and 
build  a  boat  as  large  as  that,  and  that  it  should  be  mine  ;  and 
I  am  going  to  take  my  money  as  I  can  earn  it,  and  buy  the 
stuff.  What  do  you  think  of  that,  Jim  ?" 

"  It  is  the  best  news  I  have  heard  this  long  while  ; — how 
strangely  things  work !  but  look  out  for  Ned  there." 

The  warning  was  too  late,  for  Sam  was  lying  on  his 
back,  laughing  heartily ;  and  Jim  was  scolding  Ned  for  his 
folly,  and  Jowler  was  barking  at  them  all.  As  soon  as  mat 
ters  were  composed  again,  Jim  and  Sam  started  on  their  ex 
pedition  ;  while  Ned,  with  Jowler  at  his  heels,  went  with 
right  good  will  to  his  work  in  the  garden. 

A  blacksmith's  shop  is  a  very  necessary  article  in  all 
social  establishments,  and,  in  the  country,  ranks  next  to 
the  tavern,  as  the  place  where  persons  are  likely  to  be  met 
with  and  news  collected  or  circulated.  The  one,  which  an 
swered  the  demands  of  this  place,  was  not  a  very  extensive 
establishment;  it  was  a  little,  dark -looking  hovel,  with  an  ex 
ceedingly  high  chimney.  It  was  situated  at  the  confluence  of 
several  roads,  and  was  surrounded  with  a  multitude  of  arti 
cles  that  had  once  seen  better  days,  but  when,  the  oldest 
inhabitant  could  scarcely  remember.  Mr.  Cutter,  the  pro 
prietor  of  this  establishment,  was  now  somewhat  advanced 
in  life ;  but  by  no  means  so  old  as  his  appearance  indicated. 
From  some  cause,  not  well  ascertained,  he  had  begun  about 
his  thirtieth  year  to  increase  in  flesh,  and  had  for  more  than 
twenty  years  been  adding  to  his  stock ;  neither  wielding  the 
sledge-hammer  in  his  shop,  nor  the  worrying  of  his  good  wife 
in  the  house,  could  keep  it  back ;  but  I  believe  it  was  all  the 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  53 

increase,  of  any  consequence,  that  resulted  from  his  labors, 
and  yet  he  was,  in  comparison  with  his  neighbors,  "well  to 
do  in  the  world."  He  was,  moreover,  of  a  good  disposition  ; 
ready  to  oblige,  and  of  sound  judgment,  and  as  well  ac 
quainted  with  persons  and  things  for  many  miles  round  as 
any  other  man  in  the  place,  and  a  little  better. 

Our  boys  had  determined  to  make  their  first  call  at 
"  Uncle  Sam  Cutter's,"  as  he  was  generally  styled. 

"  He's  a  clever  man,"  said  Sam,  "  and  he  knows  every 
body  and  all  about  every  thing  in  the  place,  and  it  may  save 
us  a  great  many  steps." 

It  was  a  very  warm  day,  and  Uncle  Sam  was  sitting,  out 
side  his  shop,  on  what  had  once  been  the  hub  of  a  large  cart 
wheel  ;  there  was  a  fine  shade  where  he  sat ;  a  large  apple 
tree,  which  stood  in  an  adjoining  lot,  extending  its  branches 
almost  to  his  shop  door.  He  had  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and 
was  using  it  violently  as  a  fan ;  the  heat  was  making  terrible 
work  with  him,  for  on  his  bald  head  and  down  his  fat  cheeks 
and  sunburnt  breast,  the  perspiration  was  running  in  streams. 

"  A  pretty  warm  day,  Uncle  Sam,  aint  it  ?" 

"  Here,  you  young  rogue,  take  this,  and  blow  a  little  wind  on 
to  me,  if  there's  any  to  be  got,  for  I'm  most  dead,"  (handing  Sam 
his  great  broad-brimmed  chip  hat).  "  I  guess  you'd  think  it 
warm,  blowing  them  tarnel  old  bellows  all  day  long,  with 
such  a  lump  of  fat  lugging  to  you  as  I've  got ;  I  can't  hardly 
waddle  under  it,  let  alone  handling  them  bellows." 

"  Why  don't  you  have  the  boys  blow  for  you,  Uncle  Sam  ?" 

"  The  boys  !  !  ah  yes,  the  boys  !  !  I'd  like  any  one  to 
tell  me  what  the  hul  kit  on  'em  is  good  for,  but  to  eat  mush 
and  milk.  Do  blow  away  Sam,  if  there's  any  wind  in  all 
creation  any  more.  I  want  to  git  this  carcass  o'  mine  cool 
a  little,  just  so  I  shant  go  all  to  soap-grease — talk  of  the 
boys — they're  wus  than  wild  cats ;  I  wouldn't  give  my  old 
mare  for  all  the  boys  between  this  and  the  barrens — don't 
talk  to  me  about  boys,  Sam — don't  stop  blowing,  or  I'm  a 
dead  man — here,  Jim,  my  good  fellow,  spell  him  a  little." 

"  Yes,  that  I  will,  with  pleasure,  sir." 

"  That's  like  a  man.  there's  no  boy  about  that — ah,  Jim, 
I  knew  your  father  well,  and  a  likelier  man  never  came  to 
this  place,  but  what  he  came  Aerefor,  was  more  than  I  could 
ever  see — it  seems  to  me  there's  a  cus  on  it ;  the  men  are 
bad  enough,  but  the  boys  are  the  old  Nick's  property  alto- 


54  JAMES    MONTJOY  ;     OR, 


getber  :  I  tell  you  what,  sonny,  if  we  don't  have  a  preacher 
or  something  of  that  kind  along  here  pretty  soon,  we're  a 
gone  case ;  there'll  be  another  sort  of  bellows  blowin',  than 
my  old  groaner,  I  tell  you.  Ah,  Jim.  that  feels  good,  I  won't 
touch  a  hammer  agin'  to  day  ;  if  Grizzle  wants  his  old  plough 
mended,  he  may  come  and  sweat  away  at  it  himself,  it  will 
do  his  old  dry  carcass  good,  won't  it  Sam  ?  it  won't  hurt  him, 
will  it?"  And  the  old  man  went  off  into  a  good  hearty 
laugh,  his  whole  body  shaking  like  a  lump  of  jell} — the 
idea  of  sweating  Grizzle  amused  him  so  much,  that  he  forgot 
about  the  heat,  and  taking  his  hat,  clapped  it  on  his  head. 

"  And  now,  boys,  what  are  you  up  to  ?  going  crabbing 
down  to  the  mill,  I  know,  for  my  boys  have  been  there  this 
hul  blessed  morning." 

"  Oh,  no  sir,"  Said  Jim,  "  we  were  not  thinking  about  that 
this  morning;  but  are  wishing  to  find  out  who  would  be 
willing  to  engage  some  beans  and  potatoes  for  the  fall." 

"  Beans  and  potatoes  1  why,  you  blessed  child,  are  you 
crazy  ?  You  aint  grown  up  here,  not  to  know  better  than  to 
try  to  sell  sich  things  in  this  place.  You  must  go  to  Grizzle 
with  them,  and  he  won't  take  them  only  for  jist  what  you 
owe  him." 

"  Ah,  but  we  don't  want  to  sell,  but  to  buy." 

"  Want  to  buy !  ! — you're  wus  off  than  I  thought  you 
was.  Why,  didn't  you  plant  any  ?  How  did  you  think  you 
was  goin'  to  live  ?  like  Bill  Moore  and  his  brother  down  the 
lane  here?  ha?" 

"  Oh  no  sir.  we  have  plenty  for  our  use,  but  we  can  sell 
quite  a  quantity  of  these  articles,  more  than  we  shall  have." 

"And  pray  tell  me  what  you  call  a  quantity,  mister." 

"  Why,  we  want  two  or  three  hundred  bushels." 

"  Two  or  theee  hundred  bushels !"  And  the  old  man  took 
off  his  hat  and  began  to  fan  himself  again  very  fast.  "  Two 
or  three  hundred  bus/tels ! — you  boys  wasn't  neither  on  you 
brought  up  to  lie,  but  I  don't  know  but  you've  taken  up  the 
trade ;  it's  pretty  easy  larnt,  to  be  sure." 

"  It's  true,  Uncle  Sam,  what  Jim  tells  you ;  true  as  we 
stand  here." 

"  Sam  Oakum,  them  eyes  o'  yourt.  >farn't  made  to  help  a 
lyin'  tongue  ;  so  don't  stand  there  looking  so  honest,  and 
telling  me  sich  stuff  as  that." 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  55 

"  It  is  true,  Mr.  Cutter,  just  as  Sam  says  ;  we  are  telling 
you  the  truth,  and  no  joke  about  it." 

But  the  old  man  kept  shaking  his  head  and  fanning 
himself;  so  that  Jim  felt  called  upon  to  tell  their  whole 
story. 

"  Now  boys,  is  this  true,  you're  tellin1  me  1  Sam,  you're  a 
emilin' ;  there's  some  catch  about  it,  aint  there,  you  rogue  ?" 

"  No  there  aint,  Uncle  Sam,  upon  my  honor." 

"  Well,  it's  a  queer  story,  any  how  ;  three  hundred  bushels 
potatoes ;  why  you'll  take  all  that's  raised,  and  Grizzle  won't 
have  none  for  Cross  this  year ;  you  know  he  sends  all  he 
takes  in  up  to  Cross,  who  keeps  the  store  or  tavern,  or 
whatever  they  call  it,  in  the  barrens ;  but  it  aint  much 
matter,  they're  two  precious  rogues,  both  on  'em.  And  you 
say  you  want  to  know  where  you  can  find  so  many :  I  raally 
can't  say ;  but  the  Widow  Andrews  would  be  like  to  have 
some.  Bill  tell'd  me  he  had  planted  a  considerable  patch, 
beans  and  potatoes  too ;  but  whether  they'll  come  to  any 
thing  I  don't  know  ;  for  he's  got  like  the  rest  on  'em  ;  he's 
round  to  Grizzle's  too  much,  I  guess.  Sorry  for  it — Bill's  a 
likely  fellow  if  he'd  mind  his  own  business  :  and  then  there's 
my  namesake,  Cutter ;  he  may  have  a  few,  not  a  great 
many.  I  tell  you  what,  you'll  have  to  hunt  considerable, 
boys,  afore  you'll  find  all  you  want.  And  then  there's  Billy 
Bloodgood,  deaf  Billy,  you  know  him  ;  but  you'll  have  to 
holler  loud  enough  to  wake  the  dead,  to  make  him  hear — he 
ought  to  have  a  speakin'  trumpet  fastened  into  his  ear,  its 
enough  to  give  a  man  the  consumption  to  talk  with  him ; 
and  may  be  I'll  have  a  few  myself,  and  I  would  as  leave 
you'd  have  them  as  Grizzle,  the  old  varmint ;  I  don't  believe 
I  shall  owe  him  much,  this  year.  What  are  you  goin'  to 
give,  boys?" 

Sam  looked  at  Jim  for  an  answer. 

"  Why,  if  they  are  fair  sized  potatoes,  we  can  give  twen 
ty-five  cents  a  bushel." 

"  I  wish  I  had  more  on  'em,  for  that's  double  what  Grizzle 
gives ;  and  beans  you  want  too ;  well,  I  guess  I  shall  have 
three  or  four  bushels.  I  can't  say  but  they  ought  to  be 
hoed  now,  and  I  can't  do  it,  no  bow ;  for  a  man  like  me,  to 
work  out  in  the  sun,  it's  idle  to  talk  about  it.  Why  I  should 
die  in  the  operation,  and  the  boys  don't  care  for  nothin' ;  but 


56  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

when  they  hear  what  a  price  jou're  givin',  it  may  spur  them 
up  a  little." 

The  boys  thanked  him  for  his  information,  and  started 
off  at  a  good  pace,  on  their  way  to  the  Widow  Andrews'. 
Bill  was  at  work  in  the  field,  fighting  manfully  with  a  large 
growth  of  weeds — he  greeted  them  kindly,  but  continued  his 
labors. 

':  You  will  excuse  me  if  I  don't  stop  working ;  things  are 
so  behindhand  with  me,  that  if  I  don't  labor  hard,  1  shall 
not  catch  up  with  my  work,  all  summer." 

"  By  no  means  stop,"  said  Jim  ;  "  we  can  say  what  we 
wish  to.  just  as  well  while  your  hoe  is  going."  He  made 
known  their  errand  in  few  words,  but  no  sooner  did  Bill  hear 
what  Jim  had  to  say,  than  he  stopped  hoeing,  and  looked 
with  some  surprise,  first  at  one  and  then  at  the  other  of  the 
boys. 

"  Yes,  certainly,  you  shall  have  them  ;  how  many  bushels 
do  you  want?  Haven't  you  planted  any  this  year?" 

Jim  then  acquainted  him  with  his  reasons  for  wanting 
them,  and  the  quantity  he  wished  ;  stating  also  the  price  he 
could  afford  to  give. 

"  And  the  money  shall  be  paid  to  you  when  you  deliver 
them." 

"  You  shall  have  every  potato  and  bean  I  have  for  sale. 
I  supposed  I  should  be  obliged  to  let  Grizzle  have  them,  but 
he  may  whistle  for  them,  for  all  me ;  he  allowed  me  last  year 
but  ten  cents  for  potatoes  and  fifty  cents  for  beans.  He 
will  be  angry,  probably,  but  if  I  can  have  the  money  to  pay, 
I  shall  not  fear  him  any  more  than  you  seemed  to  the  other 
day,"  looking  at  Sam. 

"  No,  I  don't  fear  him,  and  all  I  wish  is  that  Pa  didn't 
owe  him  any  thing." 

:'  Well,  he  is  a  very  bad  man,  and  will  injure  us  all,  if  he 
can  in  any  way,  when  he  finds  he  is  to  be  disappointed  in 
getting  things  at  his  own  price.  He  and  Cross  work  into 
each  other's  hands,  and  they  will  not,  if  they  can  help  it, 
have  any  one  interfere  with  them ;  but  I  don't  well  see  how 
they  can." 

William  Andrews  was  not  mistaken  in  his  views  of  the 
effect  these  things  would  have  upon  the  minds  of  such  men. 
But  it  will  be  time  enough  to  meet  trouble  when  it  comes  ;  at 
present  we  must  hasten  with  our  boys,  on  their  way  to  Billy 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  57 

Bloodgood's,  much  elated  with  their  success,  and  with  the 
change  which  seemed  to  have  taken  place  in  the  views  and 
feelings  of  young  Andrews. 

Mr.  William  Bloodgood,  or  Billy,  as  he  was  generally 
called,  was  the  best  to  do  of  any  of  the  folks  for  miles  round, 
that  is,  he  had  more  land,  and  a  few  more  head  of  cattle, 
and  managed  a  little  better  than  his  neighbors.  But  his 
house  was  rather  a  small  concern,  and  his  fences  were  in  all 
sorts  of  shape,  and  his  barn  had  far  too  many  rents  in  it, 
and  things  lay  in  all  directions  around.  Still,  he  did  better 
than  his  neighbors,  for  Billy  did  not  drink,  and  he  kept  him 
self  busy,  flying  round  on  his  farm,  and  made  out  almost 
always  to  raise  quite  a  respectable  quantity  of  one  thing 
and  another.  He  was  a  very  good-natured  man,  and  was 
blessed,  as  many  good-natured  men  are,  with  a  wife  that 
could  take  his  part,  and  her  own  too,  sometimes.  He  had  a 
peculiar  way  with  him  of  going  from  one  piece  of  work  to 
another,  without  finishing  either.  Before  his  field  of  corn 
was  half  hoed,  he  would  begin  the  potato  patch,  and  leaving 
that  unfinished,  would  be  among  the  beans,  and  so  on.  This 
habit  he  carried  with  him  into  smaller  matters,  to  his  disad 
vantage,  certainly,  and  very  much  to  his  discomfort ;  for  his 
good  woman  was  sorely  annoyed  by  it,  and  whatever  troubled 
her,  he  was  sure  to  be  obliged  to  bear  part  of  it.  They  lived 
happily,  however,  for  although  Billy  did  not  practise  sound 
philosophy  in  his  work,  he  did  in  that  very  delicate  matter, 
of  conjugal  relationship.  He  knew  it  would  never  answer 
for  both  to  have  their  own  way,  one  or  the  other  must  rule 
sometimes ;  and  as  he  saw  very  soon  that  it  would  be  a  very 
difficult  matter,  if  not  an  impossibility,  to  get  his  better 
half  to  yield,  unless  she  had  a  mind  to  it,  he  very  properly 
decided  to  give  up  the  reins  to  her.  He  was  a  wiser  man 
than  many  took  him  to  be. 

As  the  boys  entered  the  gate,  Billy  was  coming  out  of  the 
house,  having  just  finished  his  dinner ;  he  had  a  knife  in  one 
hand,  and  a  piece  of  pigtail  in  the  other,  from  which,  cutting 
a  fair  allowance,  he  put  it  into  his  mouth  with  a  manifest  relish. 
Without  apparently  noticing  the  boys  who  were  walking  to 
wards  him,  he  made  directly  to  a  great  pile  of  brush,  which 
lay  in  the  yard,  and  commenced  chopping.  They  walked  up 
to  him,  and  endeavored  to  catch  his  eye,  but  he  took  no  no- 
3* 


58  JAMES    MONTJOY  ;     OR, 


tice  of  them.  After  cutting  a  few  sticks,  he  threw  down  the 
axe,  and.  looking  at  Jim,  asked  in  a  very  loud  voice, 

"  Did  you  speak  to  me  ?" 

Jim  shook  his  head  in  the  negative,  and  then  began  to 
say  something  about  his  errand  ;  he  spoke,  as  he  thought,  in 
a  pretty  loud  voice.  But  Billy  only  noticed  his  negative  re 
ply  to  the  question  he  had  put,  and  started  for  another 
corner  of  the  yard,  where  lay  a  heap  of  farming  utensils, 
and  began  dragging  forth  an  old  one-horse  plough.  After 
separating  it  from  the  rest,  he  commenced  tinkering  the 
rigging — Jim,,  in  the  meantime,  trying  to  catch  his  eye, 
long  enough  to  let  him  know  that,  although  he  had  not  yet 
spoken  to  him,  he  wished  to.  Twice,  as  he  raised  himself, 
Jim  made  a  desperate  effort,  and  called  out  as  loud  as  he 
thought  necessary, 

"  Mr.  Bloodgood !" 

But  it  availed  nothing.  He  stared  at  him  an  instant,  and 
then  ran  across  to  another  side  of  the  yard,  to  a  little  old  corn 
crib;  and,  jumping  into  it.  began  to  overhaul  a  box  of  old 
irons,  for  something  probably  that  belonged  to  the  plough. 
In  the  midst  of  all  his  hurry,  however,  he  would  find  time 
every  now  and  then  to  put  his  hand  into  his  vest  pocket,  and 
taking  out  large  pinches  of  snuff,  would  regale  his  olfactory 
sense,  and  apparently  with  great  zest.  The  boys  began  to 
feel  that  it  was  a  desperate  case,  and  at  the  same  time  were 
so  amused,  that  they  could  with  difficulty  refrain  from  show 
ing  it.  In  fact,  Jim  did  once  or  twice  give  a  kind  of  whine, 
just  the  beginning  of  a  peculiar  laugh  he  had,  and  Sam 
would  go  off  with  a  very  slight  sneeze.  As  Billy  appeared 
to  be  in  no  hurry  to  come  out  of  the  crib,  they  walked  slowly 
across  to  where  he  was. 

"  You  try  him  this  time,  Sam ;  see  if  you  can  make  him 
hear." 

"  I  can't,  Jim,  no  how.  I  should  burst  out  laughing  in 
bis  face." 

"  I  am  afraid,  then,  we  must  give  it  up,  for  I  can't  get 
him  to  look  at  me." 

Mrs.  Bloodgood,  however,  saw  their  dilemma,  and  out 
she  came.  The  boys  hardly  knew  whether  she  was  for  peace 
or  war  ;  for  she  advanced  towards  them  with  tremendous 
strides,  muttering  as  she  came.  Her  appearance  was  indeed 
rather  dubious ;  for  her  hair  was  flying,  and  her  face  was 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  59 

very  red,  from  the  joint  exercise  of  cooking  and  eating, 
and  helping  half  a  dozen  children.  And  as  to  the  dress, 
having  great  respect  for  the  female  sex,  we  will  say  nothing 
about  it ;  it  was,  moreover,  very  warm  weather,  and  a  Gala- 
mink  petticoat  was  warm  enough,  without  the  burden  of  its 
upper  companion,  the  short-gown ;  but  she  was  just  as  she 
was,  and  we  cannot  help  it.  She  had  a  little  more  nose  than 
most  women,  that  is,  it  was  a  very  long,  sharp,  and  crooked 
nose  ;  but  the  good  woman  had  use  for  it.  And  never  were 
boys  more  astonished,  when  they  saw  how  well  it  answered 
her  turn  ;  it  was  a  veritable  speaking-trumpet,  and,  although 
the  sounds,  which  issued  from  it,  were  rather  of  the  nasal 
order,  they  were  the  better  calculated  to  penetrate  the  very 
narrow  passages  to  her  husband's  sounding-board.  Having 
been  so  long  accustomed  to  use  a  very  high  pitch  in  her  com 
munications  with  the  good  man,  she  made  no  allowance  for 
the  more  delicate  organs  of  other  people,  but  so  drove  the 
sounds  into  them,  as  truly  made  their  ears  to  tingle,  not  only 
at  the  time,  but  a  great  while  after. 

"  What  is  it  you're  wanting  ?" 

Jim  started  ;  he  could  not  help  it. 

"  Do  you  want  to  speak  to  Bloodgood  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  I  should  like  to  speak  with  him  about  some 
beans  and  potatoes." 

With  that  she  made  off  to  the  crib,  where  she  met  her 
good  man  coming  out  with  a  piece  of  old  iron  in  his  hand, 
and  making  for  the  other  side  of  the  yard,  where  the  plough 
was.  He  seemed  as  regardless  of  her  as  he  had  been  of  the 
boys ;  but  as  he  was  stooping  over  the  plough,  she  put  her 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  gave  such  a  blast  in  his  ear,  that 
his  soul  must  have  stept  out  of  his  body,  not  to  have  heard 
it ;  he  immediately  raised  himself,  and  looking  at  the  boys, 
roared  back  to  her  in  a  strain  scarcely  less  loud, 

"What  do  they  want?" 

"  I  don't  know  ;  something  about  potatoes  and  beans." 

"  Bees  ?  We  'aint  got  no  bees  ;"  and  with  that  he  took 
one  of  his  tremendous  pinches  of  snuff. 

"  Beans,  beans  !  don't  you  hear  that  ?"  And  then  turn 
ing  to  Jim  and  Sam,  who  had  walked  up  beside  her — 

"  He  grows  wus  and  wus  ;  and  it's  my  candid  belief,  that 
it's  his  snuffin'  and  snuffin'  all  the  time  so ;  his  ears,  I  s'pose, 
is  all  stopped  clean  up  ;  and  the  only  way  the  sound  can  git 


60  JAMES   MONTJOY  ;     OR, 


into  his  head  is  through  his  nose,  like  ;  and  when  he  stuffs 
that  full,  it's  like  holler  in'  agin'  a  log." 

But  he  did  hear  beans,  as  she  last  spoke  it. 

"Beans?     What  of  em?" 

"  Well,  do  tell  tne,  boys,  what  you  want  on  'em,  and  I'll 
try  to  make  him  hear,  for  you  never  can." 

With  that  Jim  communicated  to  her  his  business,  and 
when  she  understood  it  clearly  appeared  not  a  little  pleased. 

"  I  didn't  know  but  you'd  come  from  Grizzle's,  and  I  don't 
like  him ;  he's  a  good-for-nothin'  old  varmint,  and  he's  spilin' 
all  the  men  and  boys  in  the  place ;  and  I  told  Bloodgood 
I'd  rather  throw  the  potatoes  in  the  creek,  than  let  him  have 
one  on  'em."  So  she  went  to  work  with  a  good  will  to  tell 
their  errand. 

"  Who  sent  'em  ?     Grizzle  ?" 

"  No,  no  ;  you  think  there  is  nobody  in  the  whole  crea 
tion  world  to  buy  any  thing  but  Grizzle."  And  then  raising 
her  voice  to  the  very  loudest — 

"  Nobody  sent  'em ;  they  come  o'  themselves,  and  they'll 
pay  you  the  money  right  down,  when  you  take  'em  the 
things." 

"  Well,  well,  that  will  do" — and  he  smiled  then,  for  the 
first  time,  as  he  looked  at  the  boys — "  that'll  do  ;  you  shall 
have  'em  ;  let  me  know  when  you  want  'em." 

And  now  Mrs.  Bloodgood  would  insist  upon  their  going 
in,  and  taking  something  to  eat.  In  vain  it  was  they  pro 
tested  that  they  were  not  hungry,  having  eaten  a  lunch  on 
their  way. 

"  I  know  better  than  that.  I  know  what  boys  are ;  they 
can  always  eat ;  so  if  you  won't  go  in,  don't  either  on  you 
stir  one  step,  till  I  come  out." 

In  she  ran,  and  in  a  moment  appeared  again,  with  one- 
half  of  a  large  bread-cake,  which  she  had  just  taken  from  the 
griddle,  with  a  lump  of  butter  on  the  top  of  it,  and  she  with 
a  knife  spreading  it  on  ;  but  there  was  no  occasion  for  the 
knife,  for  the  butter  was  running  like  snow  in  summer,  and 
dripping  over  the  sides  of  the  cake. 

"  Here,  sonnies,  take  this  ;"  breaking  it  in  two,  and  giv 
ing  each  half.  "  I  know  it  will  taste  good." 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  61 


CHAPTEK  VI. 

A  FEW  evenings  after  the  events  recorded  in  the  last 
chapter,  Sam  started  from  home,  on  his  way  to  meet  Jim  and 
Ned.  When  but  a  short  distance  from  his  house,  to  his  sur 
prise,  he  met  William  Andrews  ;  he  was  on  his  way  to  visit 
the  Montjoys,  and  designed  calling  upon  Sam,  that  he  might 
accompany  him  to  their  house. 

."  I  am  going  to  see  them,"  said  Sam  ;  "  but  they  will  not 
be  at  the  house.  Such  fine  evenings  as  this,  we  meet  at  a 
large  rock  near  by — they  will  be  as  glad  to  see  you  as  I 
am." 

The  rock  was  large  enough  to  accommodate  the  whole  of 
them;  but  Ned  preferred  the  grass  for  his  seat;  he  and  Jow- 
ler  had  always  some  business  of  their  own  to  attend  to,  and 
very  frequently  they  would  both  be  rolling  together  on  the 
ground.  The  moon  was  rising  beautifully,  and  a  long  streak 
of  light  played  across  the  expanse  of  water,  at  a  distance, 
dancing  on  the  waves  that  were  formed  by  the  fresh  sea- 
breeze,  and,  nearer  the  shore,  where  the  water  lay  smooth 
and  unruffled,  marking  a  line  of  clear  silver  light,  as  from 
the  surface  of  a  mirror. 

There  is  always  something  peculiarly  fascinating  in  the 
formation  of  youthful  friendships,  every  thing  seems  so  fair; 
the  interchange  of  confidence  is  so  mutual,  so  whole-hearted — 
there  is  no  secret  standing  on  our  guard — no  cautious  feel 
ing  of  our  way,  to  see  whether  we  can  safely  trust.  The  heart 
has  not  yet  been  deceived,  and  therefore  yields  implicit  con 
fidence.  One  short  hour,  in  our  boyhood's  days,  will  do  more 
to  knit  our  hearts  in  bonds  strong  and  true,  than  months 
can  accomplish,  after  the  coldness  and  selfishness  of  the 
world  have  set  us  on  our  guard. 

William  Andrews  had  yielded  to  the  impulses  of  a  kind 
and  social  disposition,  and  had  thereby  been  led  sadly  astray ; 
but  the  charm  was  now  broken,  and  he  turned  away  with 
disgust  and  loathing  from  his  past  habits  and  companions. 
He  had  formed  no  friendships  with  those  who  were  his  part 
ners  in  the  idle  hour,  and  the  place  of  temptation.  His  heart 
was  yet  in  its  freshness,  with  a  love  of  the  pure  and  good, 
more  intense  for  what  he  had  seen  of  impiety  and  evil.  His 


62  JAMES   MONTJOY  J     OR, 

spirit  panted  for  communion  with  those  on  whom  it  could 
confide,  and  longed  to  pour  out  its  breathings  into  the  ear  of 
virtue  and  truth. 

And  now.  under  the  great  oak-tree,  seated  on  the  large 
flat  rock,  he  confessed  all  his  delinquencies,  related  the  nar 
rative  of  what  he  believed  to  be  a  change  for  life,  and  its 
happy  influence  upon  his  daily  routine  of  duties. 

"  I  can  work,  now,  without  being  wearied  ;  I  can  go  home 
and  meet  my  mother,  without  the  fear  of  rebuke  ;  and  I  can 
lie  down  to  rest  at  night  without  my  head  throbbing,  or  my 
body  burning  as  in  a  fever ;  and  when  I  awake  in  the  morn 
ing,  the  stupor  of  deadness  I  used  to  feel  is  gone  ;  I  am  happy, 
and  ready  for  my  business." 

Jim  and  Sam  had  no  such  personal  experience  of  their 
own  to  tell.  Sam  might,  indeed,  have  unfolded  scenes  of 
misery  in  his  own  past  history ;  but  that  would  have  been,  to 
him,  like  the  uncovering  of  Noah  by  his  guilty  son.  In  his 
own  bosom,  must  now  forever  rest  all  that  had  been  bitter  in 
his  own  experience. 

But  there  was  no  lack  of  subjects,  and  the  evening  was 
gone  before  they  had  said  the  one  half  they  had  to  say ;  and 
long  before  the  evening  was  spent,  they  were  as  intimate,  and 
as  much  one  in  their  feelings,  as  though  they  had  associated 
for  years. 

Sam's  heart  was  full  of  happiness  that  night,  as  he  walked 
along  the  shore,  and  saw  the  water  glistening  in  the  moon 
light,  and  heard  the  soft  sound  of  the  distant  waves;  and  as 
he  beheld  the  little  light  that  twinkled  in  his  lowly  home,  it 
seemed  as  bright  to  him — yea,  brighter  than  does  many  an 
illuminated  palace  to  its  princely  owner.  Dark  is  the  heart, 
Sam,  that  would  bring  a  cloud  over  your  pleasant  sky ;  but 
such  there  are.  sitting  in  council  beneath  the  same  pleasant 
moonlight  which  you  are  enjoying ; — well  for  you  that  you 
see  them,  hear  them  not. 

Had  we  the  power  of  knowing  what  is  going  on  at  the 
same  time  in  different  places, — could  we  look  into  the  hearts 
of  the  actors,  in  these  various  scenes, — could  we  know  how 
very  near,  sometimes,  are  the  plotters  of  mischief  and  spite 
to  the  unconscious,  inoffensive  objects  of  their  malice,  it 
would  be  a  cause  of  misery  to  us,  unless  our  power  was 
equal  to  our  knowledge.  Happy  is  it  for  us,  that  but  ore 
place  and  one  set  of  circumstances  can  engross  our  minds 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  63 

Not  far  from  where  these  happy  youths  held  sweet  counsel 
together,  encouraging  each  other  in  the  path  of  manliness 
and  virtue,  beneath  the  same  clear  sky  and  bright  shining 
moon,  sat  two  specimens  of  humanity,  beneath  the  shed  that 
ran  along  the  front  of  Mr.  Grizzle's  store  ; — one  of  these  the 
owner  thereof,  and  the  other  a  miserable-looking  bloated 
youth,  of  about  eighteen  years  of  age. 

"  Do  you  say,  Bill  Tice,  that  they've  been  round  buying 
up  all  the  potatoes,  and  giving  twenty-five  cents  a  bushel  ?" 

"  Yes,  it's  fact.  Old  Sam  Cutter  told  his  boys  on  it,  and 
they  told  me ;  and  they  said  the  old  man  wanted  them  to  go 
to  work  and  hoe  'em  out.  because  they  were  goin'  to  bring 
sich  a  price,  and  he  didn't  mean  to  let  old  Grizzle  have  none 
on  'em." 

"  He  did,  ha  ?     Ay,  ay,  well,  well." 

"  And  they'd  bought  all  Billy  Bloodgood's,  and  Bill  An 
drews',  and  ever  so  many  more." 

"  They  have,  eh  ?  and  gin'  twenty-five  cents  a  bushel,  you 
say?  that's  a  putty  business,  Bill."  And  Grizzle  turned  his 
bleared  and  spectacled  eyes  full  upon  his  companion.  "  A 
putty  business,  Bill,  aint  it  ?  And  who  is  to  have  potatoes  and 
sich  things  to  sell  in  the  dead  o'  winter  to  poor  folks,  who 
may  be  aint  raised  none  ?  What  would  your  folks  have  done 
last  winter,  in  sich  a  case?" 

"  Sure  enough,  we  might  starve ;  they  wouldn't  care." 

"  And  then  if  you  was  jist  to  help  yourself  a  little,"  (giving 
him  a  slight  hunch,)  "  why  they'd  be  the  first  to  complain  oil 
you ;  and  away  you  must  go  another  three  months,  in  the 
old  cage." 

"  I  hate  them  Montjoy  boys,  they  always  look  as  if  no  one 
was  good  enough  for  'em  ;  goin'  round  with  their  shirt  col 
lars  on  their  necks,  and  shoes  on  their  feet." 

"  And  you  say  Oakum  is  with  'em,  ha  ?" 

"  Why  yes,  Oakum's  boy  is  with  'em,  and  you  know  it 
must  be  the  old  man  that  does  it ;  the  boy  aint  got  nothin'." 

"  No,  nor  the  old  one  neither,  when  his  debts  is  paid  ;  but 
I'll  see,  I'll  see  ;  folks  musn't  git  in  debt  to  me  and  then  come 
out  agin'  me,  that  won't  do,  Bill  Tice." 

"  I  shouldn't  think  it  would." 

"  And  you  say  Oakum  is  goin'  to  build  a  boat  for  his 
boy?" 

"  That's  what  Dick  Cutter  tell'd  me." 


64  JAMES   MONTJOY  J     OR, 

"  To  carry  away  every  thing  we've  got  here,  and  make 
things  so  high,  poor  folks  must  starve,  or  else  work  hard,  one 
or  the  two." 

"  They  don't  care." 

"I  tell  you  what,  Bill,  you  and  I  know  one  another; 
you've  done  some  little  jobs  for  me,  and  may  be  I've  done 
some  little  things  for  you." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that." 

"  Well  now,  Bill,  this  business  must  be  stopped,  by  fair 
means  or  foul." 

"  That  boat  shan't  never  be  built." 

"  Whist.  Bill,  whist,  don't  be  too  fast,  time  enough  yet." 

«  What  will  you  do,  then  ?" 

"  What  will  I  do — jist  take  the  law  on  Oakum.  Don't 
you  see  if  I  tie  his  hands,  the  boat  can't  be  built ;  and  the 
old  one  they've  got  now,  will  only  sink  'em  to  the  bottom  of 
the  bay,  if  they  try  to  take  a  load  in  her.  I  can  make  out 
a  bill,  I  guess,  that  will  keep  him  tight  for  three  months,  at 
any  rate." 

"  That's  a  good  idee." 

"  Well,  what  I  want  of  you  is,  to  go  some  time  to-morrow, 
or  next  day,  and  jist  ask  Dick  Tucker  to  come  and  see  me, 
and  may  be  I'll  give  him  a  job.  You  aint  afraid  of  Dick, 
now,  are  you  ?" 

"  No,  I  don't  care  nothin'  for  him  ;  I  should  like  just  once 
to  turn  the  key  upon  him,  and  see  how  he'd  like  it." 

"  He'd  rather  turn  it  upon  you  and  me,  Bill ;  but  you  jist 
go  there  and  tell  him  what  I  say,  but  keep  mum,  Bill." 

"  No  fear  o'  me." 

With  that  the  old  man  patted  Bill  on  the  back, 

"  Come,  come  in  and  take  something,  afore  you  go." 
And  in  they  went,  and  down  went  the  fiery  draught,  and 
away  went  Bill  Tice,  a  wretched  victim  to  the  hateful  cup — 
a  youth  in  age,  but  already  old  in  ways  of  wickedness. 
Along  the  highway  he  plodded,  his  hat  pulled  down  over  hia 
eyes,  his  head  bent  over,  and  his  look  fixed  upon  the  path 
he  was  treading.  He  heeded  not  the  beautiful  moon  that 
was  lighting  him  on  his  way — brightly  it  shone  upon  him 
and  his  home,  but  only  to  expose  wretchedness  and  vice 
waiting  upon  each  other. 

The  path  of  duty  is  said  to  be  the  path  of  safety. 
When  considered  in  reference  to  all  final  results,  this  is 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  65 


doubtless  true ;  but  to  go  steadily  forward  in  our  daily  or 
weekly  routine,  we  must  expect  to  encounter  more  or  less 
exposure  to  danger  and  disaster. 

The  little  "craft,"  as  Peter  called  the  boat  in  which  Jim 
and  Sam  made  their  voyages,  was  by  no  means  suitable  for 
the  work,  and  again  and  again  did  the  old  sailor  warn  them, 
that  :i  they  must  look  out  for  the  southeasters,  and  never 
venture  in  no  sich  thing  as  that." 

It  was  the  only  one  at  present  that  they  could  procure, 
and  they  must  either  run  the  risk  or  give  up  their  trade — a 
thing  not  to  be  contemplated  for  a  moment. 

It  was  early  in  July  ;  the  weather  for  some  days  had  been 
oppressively  warm.  A  dense  fog  covered  the  land  and  the 
water  ;  and  as  our  boys  started  upon  their  usual  trip,  they 
were  obliged  to  lay  their  course  as  they  best  could,  as 
there  was  nothing  visible  beyond  a  few  lengths  of  their  boat. 
The  water  was  smooth,  without  a  ripple ;  not  a  breath  of  air 
could  be  felt  from  any  direction.  Sam's  father  had  endea 
vored  to  dissuade  him  from  venturing  on  the  water  at  such 
a  time. 

"  There's  no  telling  what  kind  of  weather  we  may  have 
when  this  goes  off,  and  I'm  most  sure  I  heerd  it  thunder  a 
while  ago." 

"  I  guess  it  wasn't  thunder,  Pa  ;  and  you  know  I  can 
hardly  miss  my  way  in  crossing  the  river ;  and  when  we  get 
on  the  other  shore,  it  will  be  easy  to  make  the  point,  and  by 
the  time  we  get  there,  the  wind  will  rise  and  the  fog  will  go 
off." 

Sam's  reasoning  was  well  enough,  but  his  father  was  not 
quite  satisfied  that  it  was  best  for  them  to  go ;  however,  as 
he  saw  their  minds  were  set  upon  it,  and  all  their  things  on 
board,  he  made  no  further  objections. 

As  Sam  had  said,  he  was  able  to  make  the  other  shore 
without  much  difficulty ;  and  that  once  reached,  by  keeping 
close  to  it,  the  point  was  also  gained ;  but  when  about  to 
turn  into  the  open  bay,  Sam  had  some  misgivings  as  to  what 
was  best  to  be  done.  The  fog  still  surrounded  them,  as 
dense  as  ever,  the  shore  could  be  seen  only  a  few  oars'  length 
from  it,  and  if  they  could  keep  within  sight,  they  might  pro 
ceed  with  their  voyage,  although  by  following  the  windings  of 
the  shore,  the  distance  would  be  greatly  increased.  This, 
however,  would  not  have  discouraged  Sam,  if  he  had  not 


66  JAMES    MONTJOY  ;     OR, 


known  that  there  were  spots  where  close  hugging  the  shore 
was  impossible,  as  ledges  of  rocks  ran  off  from  it,  which 
nSust  be  avoided.  Thinking  that  he  could  keep  the  shore  in 
sight  until  these  were  reached,  and  then  venture  out  a  little 
to  avoid  them,  and  not  willing  to  turn  back,  he  concluded  to 
try  the  experiment.  Jim  knew  nothing  of  the  dangers  to 
which  they  were  exposed  in  being  once  out  of  sight  of  land, 
with  no  possible  guide,  in  a  small  open  boat,  on  the  bosom  of 
a  bay  that  opened  fair  to  the  ocean.  He  therefore  made  no 
objections  to  any  of  Sam's  movements.  There  was  no  wind, 
of  course  the  sail  was  not  up,  and  Sam  handled  the  oars. 
Jim  had  his  usual  place  at  the  helm,  at  which  he  had 
become  quite  expert 

"  Keep  her  along  shore,  Jim,  and  don't  lose  sight  of  the 
land  for  any  thing.  Tell  me  when  you  see  the  large  white 
rock,  or  the  big  tree ;  but  I  don't  much  think  you  will  be 
able  to  see  tJtut  to-day  ;  but  keep  a  sharp  look-out  for  the 
rock."  The  tree,  as  Sam  expected,  was  not  visible  ;  but  after 
half  an  hour's  rowing,  Jim  pointed  out  the  rock  to  which 
Sam  had  alluded. 

"  You  remember,  Jim,  that  near  to  this  is  the  first  ledge 
of  rocks, — turn  her  off  shore  a  little, — there,  that  will  do ; 
look  sharp  for  the  rocks,  for  if  we  lose  sight  of  them  and  the 
shore  too,  we  are  gone." 

Jim  did  look  sharp ;  for  he  perceived,  from  the  anxious 
countenance  of  his  companion,  that  there  was  some  peculiar 
difficulty  to  be  apprehended :  in  a  few  moments,  however, 
they  lost  sight  of  the  shore.  This  Sam  expected ;  but  in 
stead  thereof,  anticipated  making  use  of  the  large  rocks, 
which  usually  protruded  above  the  ledge  or  sunken  reef,  as 
his  beacon.  He  exerted  his  utmost  strength  in  the  direc 
tion,  as  he  supposed,  they  would  be  found,  and  the  little 
boat  skimmed  rapidly  through  the  water.  Not  a  sign,  how 
ever,  of  rock  or  shore  could  they  discover  ;  and,  to  add  to 
their  confusion,  Sam,  by  accident,  slipped  an  oar.  Jim 
sprang  to  assist  him  in  securing  it,  his  tiller  shifted,  and  the 
points  of  the  compass  were  lost  to  them ;  the  fog,  too,  evi 
dently  thickened  around  them — 

" Don't  you  feel  a  breeze,  Sam?     I  did  just  then." 

'•  Yes,  and  I  think  I  know  where  it  comes  from  ;  you 
see  the  fog  grows  thicker  ;  it  is  driving  in  from  the  sea,  and 
this  wind  must  be  from  the  east.  Pa  said  this  morning 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  67 

he  thought  we  should  have  the  wind  from  that  quarter — here 
it  comes  again,  Jim." 

In  a  few  moments  a  fresh  and  steady  breeze  came  on ; 
Sam,  too,  confident  in  the  direction  from  which  it  came, 
hastened  to  spread  his  sail,  and  taking  the  helm  into  his 
own  hands,  put  her  head,  as  he  supposed,  in  a  direction 
that  would  carry  them  towards  the  fort,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  bring  them  near  the  shore.  For  a  while  after  the 
breeze  sprung  up,  the  fog  was  by  no  means  diminished ;  but 
at  length  it  began  to  recede,  and  as  the  circle  of  their  hori- 
aon  enlarged,  anxiously  they  watched  on  the  quarter  where 
they  were  confident  the  land  lay. 

'•  We  must  be  wrong,  Sam,  or  we  certainly  could  see  the 
land  by  this  time." 

Sam  answered  not,  for  other  signs,  than  the  non-appear 
ance  of  the  land,  convinced  him  that  he  had  mistaken  his 
bearings.  The  wind  had  not  increased  much  since  it  had  at 
first  sprung  up,  and.  in  fact,  was  giving  tokens  of  ceasing  or 
changing,  by  its  frequent  lulls ;  yet  the  water  was  becoming 
very  rough ;  in  fact,  the  waves  were  different  from  any  they 
had  ever  encountered  yet,  threatening  at  times  to  fill  their 
boat ; — he  began,  indeed,  to  fear  that  he  had  been  running 
out  instead  of  nearer  shore.  At  length  the  covering  which 
had  so  long  enveloped  them  rolled  off,  the  distant  points  of 
land  appeared,  and  their  truly  critical  position  was  clearly 
exposed.  Far  off,  in  nearly  an  opposite  direction  to  the  one 
they  were  steering  for,  loomed  up  the  fort ;  and  the  shore, 
which  they  had  trusted  was  near  at  hand,  could  just  be  seen 
through  the  creeping  vapors  which  yet  clung  to  the  land 
rising  in  patches  slowly  into  the  atmosphere.  Before  them 
was  the  open  ocean,  and  the  southeastern  shores  of  the  bay 
in  a  proximity  to  them,  which,  in  their  present  circumstances, 
was  any  thing  but  agreeable. 

Sam's  first  impulse,  of  course,  was  to  steer  directly  for 
the  haven  they  had  started  for  ;  this,  a  moment's  reflection 
upon  the  state  of  things,  convinced  him  would  be  madness. 

Several  times,  while  still  enveloped  in  the  fog,  they  had 
distinctly  heard  peals  of  thunder,  which  had  by  no  means 
been  a  source  of  quietude ;  and  now,  far  over  the  western 
sky,  had  gathered  a  dark  and  threatening  mass  of  vapors, 
aeaps  on  heaps  rolling  together,  and  spreading  to  the  north, 
*vhere  the  blackness  of  darkness  seemed  to  have  settled. 


68  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 


Beneath  that  heavy  mass,  at  the  edge  of  the  horizon,  was  a 
long  light  streak,  showing  where  in  the  far  distance  the 
storm  had  already  begun,  and  the  winds  lifting  it  up  and 
bearing  it  towards  them.  In  the  direction  of  the  storm  was 
the  shore  they  had  left ;  to  reach  that  or  the  fort,  before  it 
should  burst  upon  them,  was  utterly  impossible,  and  to  be 
caught  in  their  frail  boat  by  such  a  tempest  would  be  certain 
destruction.  On  the  south  and  southeast  lay  a  long  line  of 
shore,  not  much  nearer  than  that  on  the  west ;  yet  from  it, 
there  ran  out  for  a  mile  from  the  land,  in  a  circular  direc 
tion,  a  bar  of  sand  ;  at  high  tide  this  bar  was  nearly  covered, 
but  when  the  tide  was  out,  some  acres  of  hard  white  sand 
were  exposed,  and  afforded  a  firm  landing-place.  Sam  knew 
of  this  ;  and,  in  fact,  he  could  plainly  discern  its  white  sur 
face  in  the  distance,  for  the  tide  had  been  for  some  time  run 
ning  out,  and  was  the  main  cause  why  he  had,  in  so  short  a 
time,  made  so  long  a  stretch. 

"  What  shall  we  do,  Sam  ?  It  looks  black  there,  don't  it  ?" 

"  Black  enough — we  must  run  away  from  it." 

At  once,  Sam  tied  up  the  sail  as  carefully  as  he  could, 
and  stowed  it  as  near  the  bottom  of  the  skiff  as  possible. 

"Where  will  you  run,  Sam?  we  are  most  out  to  sea 
now." 

"  We  must  go  a  little  nearer  yet,  for  all  that  I  see ; — 
quick,  Jim,  take  the  helm ;  you  see  that  white  streak,  don't 
you,  running  out  from  the  shore  yonder  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  It  is  a  mile  nearer  to  us  than  any  place  we  can  get  to ; 
make  for  that — it  is  our  only  chance." 

Jim  did  as  directed ;  for,  on  the  water,  he  yielded  im 
plicitly  to  Sam.  The  oars  were  out,  and  Sam's  utmost 
strength  was  tasked ;  their  lives  depended  on  the  fact  of  his 
ability  to  reach  that  bar  before  the  storm  should  overtake 
them.  As  they  progressed,  the  waves  sensibly  increased ; 
and  occasionally,  through  Jim's  inexperience  in  steering, 
water  enough  would  be  shipped,  not  only  to  wet  them  thor 
oughly,  but  to  endanger  the  feeble  craft. 

Sam's  eye  was  steadily  fixed  upon  the  rising  gust ;  he 
heeded  not  the  waves — death  was  behind  them — if  they 
reached  not  that  landing-place  in  time,  they  must  be  his 
prey.  Vivid  streaks  of  lightning  ran  along  the  curling  edges 
of  the  clouds,  and  heavy-rolling  thunder,  increasing  in  loud- 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  69 

ness  at  every  clap ;  far  off  upon  the  distant  land,  could  be 
seen  volumes  of  dust  rolling  high  up  in  the  air  ;  and  when  the 
thunder  ceased,  the  sullen  roar  of  the  tempest  was  distinctly 
heard. 

"  How  fast  it  comes,  Sam  !" 

"  Keep  her  straight  for  that  bar,  Jim." 

"  Do  you  hear  the  roaring,  Sam  ?" 

"  Are  we  near  the  bar  ?  Keep  her  as  straight  as  you 
can — it's  coming  fast." 

Already  had  the  storm  reached  the  water.  Sam  knew 
now  what  ttiey  had  to  expect ;  for  before  it  arose  a  mass  of 
spray  like  a  thick  low  mist.  Rising  on  his  feet,  and  throw 
ing  himself  back  with  all  his  force,  the  little  fellow  did  all 
that  in  him  lay  to  reach  the  shore. 

"  Don't  let  go  the  helm,  Jim." 

And  Jim  immediately  braced  himself  upon  the  bottom  of 
the  boat,  holding  with  main  strength  to  the  tiller.  As  the 
wind  struck  them,  Sam  was  obliged  to  throw  himself  down 
in  the  boat ;  he  could  not  face  its  fury.  In  an  instant,  all 
sights  and  sounds  but  that  of  the  storm  were  lost ;  they  were 
at  its  mercy,  or  more  properly,  at  the  mercy  of  Him  who  di 
rected  it.  A  few  moments,  their  little  boat  tossed  and 
floated  amid  the  tumult,  and  then  struck  heavily  upon  the 
beach. 

"  Out,  Jim  !  out,  and  hold  on  !" 

The  days  when  the  little  skiff  was  expected  at  the  fort 
began  to  be  looked  forward  to,  with  much  pleasure,  by  old 
Peter  and  his  little  charge.  Seated  on  the  parapet  which 
surrounded  the  fort,  with  a  spyglass  in  his  hand,  he  would 
watch  a  bend  of  the  shore,  around  which  the  little  boat  could 
first  be  seen.  Susie  would  be  near  him,  looking  at  the  play 
of  the  waters  among  the  broken  rocks  which  formed  the 
foundation  of  the  fort,  or  listening  to  marvellous  stories  of 
sea  life,  of  which  Peter  had  the  usual  supply. 

This  day,  they  had  watched  until  the  storm  came,  and 
after  it  had  cleared  away ;  until  giving  up  all  expectation  of 
seeing  the  boat,  Peter  had  hobbled  into  the  fort  to  attend  to 
some  little  matters,  and  Susie  sought  for  amusement  in  her 
usual  play-ground — the  narrow  strip  of  land,  about  twenty 
feet  in  width,  encircling  them.  It  has  been  mentioned,  that 
a  ledge  of  rocks  connected  with  the  main-land,  being  formed 
partly  by  nature,  and  partly  by  a  deposit  of  large  broken 


70  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

stones — the  design  apparently  was  to  have  formed  a  passage 
to  the  shore  without  the  aid  of  a  boat,  but,  for  some  cause  or 
other,  it  was  not  carried  out.  At  low  water,  one  acquainted 
with  the  locality  might  have  made  his  way  across  it,  from 
rock  to  rock,  without  much  difficulty ;  but,  when  the  tide 
was  in.  all  communication  was  cut  off.  At  the  rising  and 
falling  of  the  tide,  the  water  flowed  through  the  narrow  pas 
sages  with  great  rapidity  ;  and  a  very  expert  swimmer  would 
have  needed  much  muscular  strength  not  to  have  been  swept 
away  with  it.  Peter  never  ventured  upon  this  rough  cause 
way  himself,  for  two  very  good  reasons :  first,  because  it  was 
no  place  for  crutches  to  travel  over ;  and,  secondly,  consider 
ing  it  unsafe,  he  did  not  wish  to  set  the  little  girl  an  example 
which  might  lead  her  into  danger. 

Tired,  however,  with  her  narrow  promenade,  when  she 
reached  the  ledge  spoken  of,  without  any  misgivings,  she 
rambled  across  the  rough  pavement  of  broken  stones,  until 
she  came  to  a  large  rock  forming  the  terminus.  On  one 
side,  this  rock  was  shelving.  Fearless  she  walked  down  to 
the  water's  edge  :  the  tide  was  running  swiftly  past,  and  this 
peculiar  motion  of  the  water  being  new  to  her,  she  laid  her 
self  down,  and  watched  the  coursing  of  the  dark  current  with 
delight. 

When  Peter  returned,  he  saw  nothing  of  Susie ;  and 
thinking  she  had  gone  to  the  other  side  of  the  fort,  was 
hobbling  round  to  look  after  her  ;  when,  to  his  surprise,  on 
turning  the  first  angle,  he  saw  the  little  boat  close  at  hand, 
and  apparently  coming  from  a  very  different  quarter  than 
usual. 

"  Hulloa,  my  hearties :  where  do  you  hail  from  now  ?" 

"  The  Horse  Shoe,"  said  Sam,  putting  his  hand  to  his 
mouth,  and  making  as  gruni  a  noise  as  old  Peter  did. 

"  The  Horse  Shoe  !  What !  druv  down  there  in  the 
gale?" 

"  G-ot  lost  in  the  fog,  and  made  for  the  sand-bar ;  when 
the  storm  came  up,  we  had  a  hard  time  of  it." 

Peter  began  to  chew  hard  on  his  cud,  and  shake  his  head 
very  violently  ;  at  the  same  time  resting  on  his  crutches,  he 
doubled  up  his  fist,  and  held  it  in  a  very  threatening  manner 
towards  Sam. 

"  The  fog — lost  in  the  fog — and  didn't  you  know  better, 
than  to  venture  off  shore,  with  no  pints  of  compass,  and  no 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  71 

reckoning,  and  no  nothing  to  steer  by,  in  sich  a  craft  as  that  ? 
That  aint  fit  to  trust  a  man's  life  in  on  a  mill  pond." 

Sam  smiled. 

"  It  aint  no  laughing  matter,  my  young  man,  to  foller 
the  water  ;  I've  tell'd  you  that,  many  a  time  ;  it  aint  like  the 
land,  where  you  can  lay  to,  and  hold  on  jist  as  you  likes. 
No,  no,  them  that  deals  with  the  winds  and  the  waves,  must 
keep  a  sharp  look-out,  and  watch  their  chances  ;  its  nothin' 
more  nor  less,  but  a  temptin'  o'  Providence  with  your  dumb 
founded  perverseness.  But  howsomever,  I'm  glad  to  see 
you  ;  so  jist  haul  up.  and  I'll  call  the  Major." 

Peter  hobbled  towards  the  landing-place,  to  which  Sam 
urged  his  boat.  Just  as  she  struck  the  stairs,  a  loud  scream 
was  heard.  Sam  sprang  from  the  boat,  and  ran  with  light 
ning  speed  across  the  ledge  of  broken  rocks.  He  had  seen, 
what  those  on  the  dock  could  not  see.  The  little  girl  had 
caught  a  view  of  the  boat,  and  rising  to  return,  had  ven 
tured  to  tread  upon  a  part  of  the  rock  which  was  covered 
with  sea-weed :  her  foot  had  slipped,  and  when  Sam  beheld 
her,  she  was  hanging  just  above  the  water,  clinging  to  the 
rock,  and  screaming  in  her  agony.  Almost  distracted,  Peter 
called  aloud  for  help  ;  although  he  could  see  nothing,  as  yet, 
of  the  child.  Sam  felt  that  life  or  death  depended  upon  his 
exertions  ;  and  none  but  one  accustomed,  as  he  had  been, 
from  infancy,  to  tread  with  bare  feet  the  flinty  shore,  could 
have  made  such  fearful  haste  over  that  rough  pavement. 
One  false  step  would,  in  all  probability,  have  cost  his  life. 
He  reached  the  rock  ;  she  was  still  clinging ;  he  grasped  at 
her — it  was  too  late — and  down  she  plunged  into  the  deep 
water,  and  was  borne  swiftly  along  by  the  current.  But 
Sam  was  with  her ;  he  waited  not  to  calculate  the  chances 
against  his  own  life — in  an  instant  he  plunged,  and  then 
arose  a  cry  from  the  fort,  that  brought  help  and  dear  friends 
to  witness  the  heart-rending  spectacle ;  for  there  could  be 
little  doubt  in  the  minds  of  all,  that  both  must  perish.  Ma 
jor  Morris,  at  the  first  alarm,  rushed  to  the  spot.  His 
distress  at  seeing  the  idol  of  his  heart  sinking  in  the  deep 
water,  cannot  be  described.  He  flew  with  one  or  two  attend 
ants  to  his  own  boat,  which  lay  near  at  hand ;  and  made 
all  the  haste  the  most  intense  anxiety  could  urge,  to  reach 
the  struggling  children.  But  Peter  was  before  him,  in  the 
little  skiff  with  Jim ;  the  moment  he  understood  the  case,  he 


72  JAMES   MONTJOY  J     OR, 

threw  down  his  crutches,  sprang  into  the  boat,  and  like  a 
master  workman,  made  her  fly  through  the  water. 

"  Hold  on,  my  darlings,  don't  be  frightened ;  I'll  soon  be 
with  you." 

But  no  answer  was  returned  ;  Sam  had  not  calculated 
his  own  strength,  and  had  no  idea  of  the  desperate  energy  it 
would  require  to  sustain  himself  with  another  clinging  to 
him.  His  arms  could  afford  him  no  assistance ;  the  little 
girl  had  grasped  them  with  such  energy,  that  the  utmost  he 
could  do,  was  just  to  keep  her  head  from  beneath  the  water. 
Every  thing  was  done  with  the  greatest  speed,  from  the  mo 
ment  their  situation  was  observed ;  but  it  took  some  little 
time  to  reach  them.  Sam  felt  his  strength  failing,  he  could 
not  even  call  for  help ; — intent  upon  one  only  object,  he 
struggled  on ;  and  when  he  could  raise  his  head  above  water 
to  speak,  he  tried  to  encourage  her.  But  the  powers  of  na 
ture  could  do  no  more,  and  he  felt  the  water  rushing  above 
his  head,  and  was  conscious  that  all  was  over  with  him ; — 
when  a  hand,  strong  and  steady,  grasped  his  arms,  still  ex 
tended,  and  bearing  up  their  precious  burden. 

"  She's  saved  !  she's  saved !"  hallooed  Peter,  with  his  loudest 
voice.  "  She's  saved  !  God  be  praised ! — she  aint  hurt  a  bit." 
With  one  hand  he  took  Susie  from  her  hold  on  Sam,  and 
raised  her  into  the  boat ;  and  with  the  other  supported  him, 
so  that  his  head  was  above  the  water. 

"  Thank  God  !"  exclaimed  Major  Morris  — "  But  the  boy, 
— is  he  alive  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Peter ;  at  the  same  time  raising  Sam, 
and  laying  him  down  in  the  boat. 

"  No,  no,  he  aint,"  said  Jim,  throwing  himself  on  the 
body  of  Sam.  "  He's  dead  ! — oh  dear — he's  dead  !  he's  dead  !" 

"  I  tell  you  he  aint, — he  aint ;  he's  only  swooned  like — he 
aint  dead :  no,  no." 

But  when  Major  Morris  saw  his  pale  and  deathlike 
countenance,  he  was  in  great  alarm. 

"  To  shore,  instantly  ;  he  has  saved  my  child,  but,  I  fear, 
with  the  loss  of  his  own  life."  And  while  he  hugged  the 
darling  of  his  heart  to  his  bosom,  and  thanked  God  for  his 
mercy,  he  could  not  restrain  the  big  tears,  as  he  looked  at 
the  pallid  features,  and  felt  the  cold  and  clammy  temples  of 
the  brave  heart  that  had  saved  her.  Frantic  with  grief  and 
joy  alternate,  Mrs.  Morris  watched  every  motion,  from  the 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  73 


stairs  to  which  she  had  flown,  at  the  first  summons  of  the 
danger  of  her  child.  Receiving  her  from  the  arms  of  the 
father,  crying,  and  kissing  her  in  the  wildness  of  her  joy, 
surrounded  by  attendants,  she  hurried  into  the  fort ;  while 
Major  Morris  took  the  lifeless  body  of  Sam  in  his  arms, 
followed  by  Peter,  and  Jim,  who  was  almost  beside  himself 
with  grief  and  terror. 

It  seemed  a  long,  long  time,  to  those  who,  under  the  di 
rection  of  the  surgeon  of  the  garrison,  were  using  means 
to  resuscitate  him ;  and  scarcely  less  rejoiced  was  Major 
Morris,  when  he  received  his  own  child  alive  in  Jhis  arms, 
than  when  he  perceived  the  signs  of  returning  consciousness 
in  Sam.  At  length  he  awoke,  as  from  a  troubled  dream. 
With  an  expression  of  deep  anxiety,  he  looked  upon  the 
circle  which  surrounded  him.  Mrs.  Morris  was  bending  over 
him,  parting  the  wet  and  tangled  locks  from  off  his  pale 
forehead ;  beside  her,  stood  the  Major,  holding  his  hands, 
and  rejoicing  in  the  warmth  which  he  felt  was  returning  to 
his  system.  Peter  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  chewing, 
incessantly,  a  tremendous  quid  of  tobacco,  which  he  had 
found  leisure  to  slip  into  his  mouth,  even  in  the  midst  of  all 
the  confusion.  He  had  done  great  execution  in  the  way  of 
rubbing ;  his  hands,  very  unlike  his  heart,  were  rough,  and 
well  calculated  for  such  a  purpose  He  had,  however,  now 
ceased  rubbing  ;  and  was  looking  alternately  at  Sam,  and  at 
a  short,  red-faced  personage,  the  Irish  servant  woman,  who 
stood  at  his  elbow.  Endowed  with  all  the  feelings  of  her  sex 
and  her  nation,  she  continued  to  be  in  great  agitation.  Her 
arms  were  crossed  upon  her  breast,  her  eyes  turned  up  to 
the  ceiling,  and  with  her  body  swinging  to  and  fro,  she  was 
uttering  certain  groans  and  exclamations,  which  possibly  the 
saints,  to  whom  they  were  addressed,  understood,  but  Peter 
certainly  could  not ;  it  only  served  to  divert  his  attention 
from  Sam. 

"  Is  the  little  girl  safe  ?"  said  Sam,  looking  full  into  the 
face  of  Major  Morris. 

"  Yes,  my  fine  fellow,  she  is  safe  and  well ;  thanks  to  you, 
under  a  kind  Providence,  for  it." 

Sam  shut  his  eyes  again  ;  he  said  nothing  further  ;  but 
there  was  a  tremulous  motion  on  his  lips,  and  about  the  mus 
cles  of  his  face.  Some  cordial  was  administered,  and  he 
was  allowed  to  fall  asleep.  As  he  slept,  the  powers  of  nature 
3 


74  JAMES   MONTJOY  I     OR. 


began  to  assume  their  natural  energy ;  a  gentle  warmth 
spread  over  his  frame ;  the  color  again  mantled  his  cheek ; 
and  his  whole  countenance  told  the  story,  to  those  anxious 
watchers,  that  he  was  doing  well.  All  breathed  more  freely  ; 
the  scene,  so  late  full  of  terror  and  dismay,  was  changing, 
like  the  black  clouds  which  bring  the  thunder  storm,  into 
beautiful  visions  for  the  eye  to  rest  upon  and  enjoy. 

When  Sam  again  awoke,  Jim  alone  was  with  him.  He 
was  much  refreshed,  and  asked  whether  they  had  not  better 
return  home. 

"  Whenever  you  are  well  enough,  we  will  do  so.  Every 
thing  is  settled  for — I  have  got  your  money  and  mine  too." 

"  Oh,  have  you  ?  Well,  I  have  not  thought  much  about 
money,  or  any  thing  else  ;  I  have  been  in  a  kind  of  dream,  I 
believe." 

"Don't  you  remember  any  thing  that  has  happened, 
Sam?" 

"  Why,  I  remember  seeing  that  little  girl  hanging  on  the 
rock  : — oh  Jim,  how  I  did  feel ;  and  I  remember  running  as 
fast  as  I  could,  and  just  as  I  put  my  baud  on  her  to  catch 
her,  off  she  slipped.  I  remember  that,  Jim.  and  I  don't 
believe  I  shall  ever  forget  it :  and  I  remember  holding  her 
up  out  of  the  water,  and  trying  to  call  for  help  ;  and  then, 
just  as  I  was  giving  up,  and  going  down,  I  felt  something 
take  hold  of  me  ;  and  after  that,  all  seems  to  be  confused.  I 
thought  they  told  me  she  was  saved  ;  and  I  thought  I  saw 
her,  once,  looking  at  me  ;  but  I  don't  know :  may  be  I  only 
dreamt  it."  And  Sam  looked  very  anxiously  at  Jim. 

"No,  it's  no  dream,  Sam  ;  for  she  has  been  here  a  good 
while,  by  you,  and  when  she  saw  how  pale  you  looked,  she 
cried." 

"  Did  she  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  they  all  cried.  And  you  don't  know  what 
Mr.  Morris  says — he  says  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you,  she 
would  have  drowned  before  any  of  them  could  possibly  have 
reached  her  ;  and  that  you  have  saved  her  life." 

Sam  could  make  no  reply.  The  thought  that  he  had 
saved  a  life,  and  the  life  of  one  so  beautiful,  and  so  much 
beloved,  was  too  full  of  happiness,  and  it  overpowered  him. 
The  door  now  opened  slowly,  and  Peter's  shaggy  head  made 
its  appearance.  He  had  a  bundle  under  his  arm — Sam's 
clothes,  which  had  been  dried  and  ironed  for  him.  Seeing 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  75 


thro\ 


Sam  sitting  up,  he  hobbled  to  the  bedside,  took  both  his 
crutches  under  one  arm,  and  throwing  the  other  around 
Sam,  gave  him  a  hug,  well  meant,  no  doubt,  and  expressive 
of  his  kind  feelings  ;  but  which  would  have  been  much  more 
in  keeping,  had  Peter  been  holding  on  to  a  main-top-gallant- 
mast,  in  a  gale  of  wind. 

Sam  was  soon  arrayed  in  his  old  but  clean  garments. 
"While  he  was  dressing,  Peter  stood  with  his  crutches  properly 
adjusted  for  moving,  his  jaws  working  very  rapidly,  and  his 
head  nodding  approvingly  at  Sam. 

"  And  now,  come,  my  hearty,  you're  all  rigged  The 
ladies  want  to  see  you  in  t'other  room  ;  come." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no.  I  can't  do  that ;  I  can't  go,  no  how." 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  you're  a  good  fellow  of  your  age  as 
ever  handled  an  oar ;  but  you  are  too  dumbfounded  perverse 
in  your  own  ways :  here  is  you,  been  a  saving  this  child, 
riskin'  your  own  life  ;  and  when  they  want  jist  to  say  to  you, 
'  God  bless  you,'  and  kind  o'  relieve  their  own  minds,  you 
up  and  won't  go." 

But  Sam  persisted  ;  he  would  jump  into  the  water  again, 
if  that  was  necessary  ;  but  as  to  going  into  a  fine  parlor,  and 
being  looked  at  by  fine  ladies,  it  was  not  to  be  thought  of. 
Peter  was  about  to  make  some  violent  pleas  against  Sam's 
"  perverseness."  as  he  called  it ;  when,  seeing  the  Major,  he 
suddenly  adjusted  his  crutches,  stroked  down  his  queue,  and 
backed  off"  to  another  part  of  the  room. 

We  must  now  leave  Sam  to  the  care  of  these  friends, 
and  see  what  is  going  on  beneath  the  humble  roof  of  his 
parents  ;  an  eventful  day  it  proved  for  him  and  for  them. 

Bill  Tice  had  done  the  errand  which  Mr.  Grizzle  in 
trusted  to  him  ;  a  few  days  after,  the  old  yellow  gig  of  Mr. 
Richard  Tucker  was  seen  standing  at  Mr.  Grizzle's  door  ; 
while  the  two  worthies  were  sitting  together  in  a  little  back 
room,  adjoining  the  store,  with  an  old  greasy  account-book 
lying  on  the  table  beside  them,  and  sundry  papers  in  Mr. 
Tucker's  handwriting,  open,  and  almost  ready  to  be  folded 
up  and  put  into  a  dirty  pocket-book,  belonging  to  said  Mr. 
Tucker  ;  which  was  also  lying  there,  and  waiting  to  inclose 
within  its  clasp,  an  instrument  fully  charged  with  a  power 
to  torture,  only  surpassed  by  the  wheel,  which,  in  former 
days,  twisted  the  joints  of  the  wretched  victims*  from  their 
strong  fastenings. 


76  JAMES    MONTJOY  j     OR, 

. .    . 

"  A  larger  bill,  Mr.  Dick,  than  I  thought  I  could  muster 
up  ;  and  now  you  make  the  most  of  it." 

"  Trust  me  for  that ;  all  I  want  to  know  is  what  my  prin 
cipal  requires — that's  all." 

And  Mr.  Tucker  knit  his  bushy  brows,  and  went  on  tying 
up,  with  a  dirty  blue  string,  the  papers  which  had  been  lying 
on  the  table. 

After  securing  them  in  this  manner,  he  opened  his  pocket- 
book,  and  deposited  them  therein ;  and  then,  in  the  same 
careful  manner,  thrust  the  whole  into  an  inside  pocket  of  his 
threadbare  coat.  Mr.  Tucker  was  about  to  do  a  very  dirty 
job,  and  he  was  a  man  well  fitted  for  the  duty.  He  had  a 
heart,  doubtless,  that  beat  and  threw  the  vital  current  about 
his  frame  just  as  other  men  have,  and  he  had  bones,  and 
sinews,  and  flesh — and  these  could  suffer  pain  as  other  flesh 
and  blood ;  but  to  say  that  Mr.  Tucker  had  a  heart  as  others 
have,  that  would  beat  in  sympathy  with  his  fellow  in  distress; 
or  that  he  could  be  made  to  feel  shame,  or  pain,  or  sorrow, 
or  regard,  in  that  secret  fountain  where  springs  so  much  that 
sweetens  or  embitters  life,  would  be  wrong, — wrong  to  him, 
because  it  would  be  saying  that  of  him  which  was  not  true, — 
wrong  to  the  mass  of  mankind,  who  have  feelings  that  can  be 
touched.  Mr.  Tucker's  appearance  was  in  keeping  with  his 
character :  little  leaden-colored  eyes,  sunk  deep  in  his  head, 
over  which  scowled  dark  shaggy  brows ;  a  pale,  cadaverous 
countenance,  with  no  expression  that  one  could  lay  hold  of 
in  an  hour  of  distress,  on  which  to  found  a  hope  that  any 
compassion  might  be  felt,  or  any  mercy  shown.  A  fit  min 
ister  was  he  of  that  stern  and  barbarous  code  which  legal 
ized  the  torturing  of  the  poor  man, — which  allowed  the 
tearing  him  away  from  the  charities  of  home,  and  entomb 
ing  him  in  the  charnel-house  of  vice,  debauchery,  and  filth. 

Some  feelings  of  compunction  seemed  yet  to  be  lingering 
in  the  breast  of  Mr.  Grizzle ;  for,  as  Mr.  Richard  put  his  hat 
on  his  head,  and  buttoned  up  his  coat,  and  fumbled  about  in 
the  act  of  departing,  he  stammered  out — 

"  It's  right,  you  know ;  I  ought  to  have  my  own.  Folks 
cannot  expect  me  to  wait  always  for  'em — pay-day  must 
come." 

"  Right,  to  be  sure  it's  right ;  and  as  you  say  he's  running 
against  you,  and  setting  up  his  boy  and  others  to  hurt  your 
trade — why,  muzzle  him,  I  say — who  wouldn't  ?" 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  77 

"I  suppose  it  wouldn't  be  much  use  taking  the  timber 
and  stuff  that  he  is  building  that  boat  with  ? — there  is  no 
thing  else  to  take." 

'•  No  use  in  that ;  he  hasn't  done  much  to  it,  but  put  the 
ribs  together — it's  of  no  value  as  it  is.  No — shut  him  up, 
that's  the  way — that  will  stop  boat  and  all." 

"  Well,  well ;  you  know  the  law,  Dick,  let  it  work.  I 
shall  have  to  find  him  in  bread  and  water — that  won't  cost 
much." 

The  day  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and  the  shades  of  even 
ing  were  deepened  by  a  heavy  cloud  which  was  rising  in  the 
west,  and  into  which  the  sun  was  sinking.  A  muttering  of 
distant  thunder  hastened  the  departure  of  Mr.  Tucker.  He 
sprang  into  his  crazy  old  gig,  and  drove  off  at  a  quick  pace 
to  his  deed  of  mischief. 

Mr.  Oakum  had  worked  diligently  on  his  boat  all  day, 
and  continued  his  labor  to  a  later  hour  than  usual,  in  ex 
pectation  that  the  little  skiff  would  be  along,  and  Sam  would 
accompany  him  home.  He  had  felt  much  uneasiness  for  the 
safety  of  the  boys,  and  was  very  desirous  of  witnessing  their 
return.  Darkness  was  coming  on,  and  a  storm  threatening; 
so  taking  a  long  look  across  the  water,  and  meeting  no  signs 
of  the  boat,  with  rather  a  sad  heart  he  walked  towards  his 
home.  Their  evening  meal  was  eaten  in  silence  ;  while,  as 
long  as  the  light  permitted  any  view  of  distant  objects,  the 
eyes  of  the  parents  were  directed  across  the  water.  They 
felt  as  they  had  never  before,  how  dependent  they  were  upon 
their  boy,  for  his  smile  and  his  voice  to  cheer  their  hearts. 

Scarcely  had  they  finished  their  supper,  when  the  yellow 
gig  of  Mr.  Tucker  drove  up.  Oakum  and  his  wife  cast  their 
eyes  at  the  gig,  and  then  at  each  other.  Instantly  she  per 
ceived  that  trouble  was  at  hand  ;  for  her  husband  grew  very 
pale,  and  even  faltered  in  his  step,  as  he  walked  to  the  door 
to  admit  their  visitor.  Mr.  Tucker  did  not  use  much  for 
mality  in  his  official  visits,  and  entered  without  knocking. 

"  Mr.  Oakum,  I  believe." 

"  At  your  service,  sir." 

"Here  is  an  account,  sir,  I  believe,  against  you,  lately 
put  into  my  hands" — at  the  same  time  opening  his  pocket- 
book,  and  taking  out  one  of  the  papers,  which  he  had  so 
carefully  put  there,  but  a  short  time  since,  in  the- little  back 
room  of  Sir.  Grizzle's  store.  Mr.  Oakum  took  the  paper, 


78  JAMES   MONTJOY  J     OR, 


and  asking  Mr.  Tucker  to  be  seated,  availed  himself  of  the 
same  privilege — for,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  was  completely  un 
nerved.  He  knew  well  what  office  Mr.  Tucker  held  :  he 
also  knew  something  of  the  man,  and  a  strange  weakness 
came  over  him,  so  that  when  he  unfolded  the  paper,  and  held 
it  up  to  the  light  of  the  window,  his  hands  trembled  so 
violently,  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  make  out  the  sum  of 
his  indebtedness. 

"  This  is  from  Mr.  Grizzle,  I  suppose,  Mr.  Tucker." 

« It  is,  sir." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  can  make  out  exactly  what  the 
amount  is ;  but  I  suppose  it  is  right.  I  owe  Mr.  Grizzle 
something,  but  I  thought  it  wasn't  much." 

"  Much  or  little,  sir,  you've  got  it  there  ;  it  is  something 
over  thirty  dollars.'1 

"  Thirty  dollars !  !  Aint  there  some  mistake,  Mr. 
Tucker  ?"  and  Mr.  Oakum  looked  at  his  wife  in  amazement. 
She,  poor  thing,  stood  like  a  statue,  not  comprehending  the 
matter,  but  fearing  it  was  something  dreadful. 

"  I  guess  there  is  no  mistake,  sir.  Mr.  Grizzle  took  it 
from  his  book,  and  he  ain't  apt  to  make  mistakes ;  but  that 
is  between  you  and  him — it  is  no  concern  of  mine." 

"  Oh,  no,  sir,  you  are  not  to  blame.  I  know  I  owe  Mr. 
Grizzle,  and  I  have  thought  of  it  a  great  deal,  and  am  trying 
to  get  a  little  something  ahead  to  give  him ;  he  shall  have 
all  I  honestly  owe  him  just  as  soon  as  my  hands  can  earn 
it.  I  will  call  and  see  Mr.  Grizzle  to-morrow,  and  take  him 
a  little." 

Mr.  Tucker  now  arose  from  his  seat,  put  his  hat  on  his 
head,  and  stepping  up  to  Mr.  Oakum — 

"  All  that  is  well  enough,  sir  ;  but  it  don't  pay  the  bill. 
If  you  cannot  settle  it  at  once,  you  will  please  go  along  with 
me  ;"  at  the  same  time  putting  his  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  I  have  a  warrant  to  take  you,  unless  you  can  give  me 
the  money,  or  goods  in  the  place  of  it.  Shall  I  read  the 
warrant  ?" 

"  There  is  no  occasion  for  that,  sir ;  I  have  not  got  the 
money,  if  it  was  to  save  my  life ;  and  goods  I  have  none,  only 
what  you  see  here."  >» 

"  Well,  sir,  if  you  go  peaceably,  it  is  well  enough  ;  if  not, 
I  must  read  the  warrant,  for  I  have  no  time  to  lose ;  it  is 
getting  dark." 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  79 

Mr.  Oakum  arose ;  but  his  limbs  could  scarcely  sustain 
him ;  big  drops  of  sweat  stood  on  his  pale  forehead,  and  a 
deadly  sickness  was  at  his  heart. 

':  Oakum,  Oakum  !  tell  me  what  it  is.  What  does  this 
man  want  ?" 

"  I  don't  see,  Mr.  Tucker,  what  good  it  is  going  to  do  Mr. 
Grizzle  to  shut  me  up  in  jail.  I  can't  do  no  work  there. 
And  what  are  my  wife  and  children  to  do?  must  they 
starve  ?" 

"  Jail !  jail !  Ah,  sir  ;  you  ain't  going  to  put  my  hus 
band  in  jail !  What  hurt  has  he  done  you,  or  any  body 
else?" 

And  she  flew  to  her  husband,  and  putting  her  arms  around 
his  neck,  wept  as  though  her  heart  had  broken.  But  Mr. 
Richard  was  not  to  be  balked  in  the  discharge  of  his  official 
duties  by  the  tears  of  either  man  or  woman — some  harsh 
things  he  said,  which  aroused  the  humbled  spirits  of  this 
suffering  husband  and  wife.  Mrs.  Oakum  hushed  her  grief, 
for  the  time,  in  order  to  quiet  the  distressed  children,  who 
were  clinging  to  their  father,  and  screaming  in  their  agony, 
when  they  learned  whither  he  was  going.  Mr.  Oakum  made 
no  resistance  to  the  imperious  demands  of  the  officer ;  but, 
quieting  the  feelings  of  his  family  as  far  as  he  could,  entered 
the  gig  with  Mr.  Tucker,  and  was  driven  rapidly  away  amid 
the  darkness  of  the  gathering  storm. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Oakum  was  enabled  to  collect  her 
thoughts,  apprehensions  on  Sam's  account  again  oppressed 
her.  She  took  her  seat  by  the  window,  and  looked  in  every 
direction ;  but  the  darkness  had  increased  so  rapidly,  that 
objects  could  be  discerned  at  only  a  short  distance  from  the 
house.  Occasionally  the  vivid  lightning  would,  for  an  in 
stant,  throw  its  bright  glare  across  the  water,  making  objects 
distinctly  visible.  On  one  occasion,  she  thought  she  saw  a 
small  white  sail ;  and  every  succeeding  flash  she  watched, 
until  her  eyes  were  nearly  blinded  by  the  dazzling  light,  but 
nothing  more  of  it  could  she  discern.  A  startling  peal  of 
thunder  proclaimed  the  storm  was  at  hand,  and  the  rain  be 
gan  to  patter  in  large  drops,  and  then  to  pour  its  floods  upon 
them.  Just  at  that  moment  the  door  opened  ;  and  Sam,  with 
his  cheerful  smile  and  pleasant  words,  was  in  their  midst. 
They  all  flew  to  caress  him  ;  but  missing  his  father,  and  see 
ing  the  marks  of  distress  in  his  mother's  countenance — 


80  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 


"  Where  is  father  ? — is  any  thing  wrong — do  tell  me 
quick,  mother." 

"  Ah.  Sammy  !  what  shall  we  do?" 

All  Sam's  bright  hopes  were  dashed  at  once ;  he  durst  ask 
no  further.  The  day  had  been  one  of  severe  toil  and  immi 
nent  danger ;  but  he  had  been  richly  rewarded,  in  the  appro 
bation  of  those  he  esteemed  so  highly  ;  he  had  been  caressed 
by  those  whose  rank  in  life  was  among  the  first  in  the  land; 
and  he  had  then  about  him,  a  jewel  of  no  inconsiderable 
value,  given  to  him  by  Mrs.  Morris,  as  a  token  of  her  high 
approbation ,  of  his  manly  conduct,  and  of  the  obligation 
she  should  ever  feel  for  the  rescue  of  her  child.  All  this 
had  stimulated  his  honorable  pride  ;  and  full  of  the  fond  an 
ticipation  of  making  his  parents  glad  with  the  tidings  of  the 
day,  he  had  landed  with  a  happy  heart,  a'nd  hurried  to  his 
home.  But  now,  alas  !  his  father  has  yielded  to  the  temp 
ter,  never,  perhaps,  to  be  restored,  and  all  his  proud  dreams 
are  gone. 

"  You  need  not  tell  me  about  it,  mother.  But  I  must  go 
and  try  to  find  him ;  he  may  be  somewhere  on  the  road,  un 
able  to  help  himself,  and  exposed  to  this  storm." 

His  mother  looked  earnestly  at  him,  as  though  not 
clearly  comprehending  what  he  meant,  but  it  soon  became 
evident  to  her. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  not  that,  Sammy.  Your  pa  has  been  hard  at 
work  all  day,  and  we  were  only  worrying  a  little  about  you, 
as  he  felt  so  anxious,  ever  since  the  storm  we  had  in  the 
morning, — if  it  had'nt  been  for  that,  we  should  have  been  as 
happy  as  could  be, — when,  all  at  once,  that  good-for-nothing 
creature,  Richard  Tucker,  came  in,  and  said  he  was  sent  by 
Grizzle,  and  in  spite  of  all  we  could  say  or  do,  he  has  took 
him  off  to  the  jail." 

And  she  broke  out  again  in  a  passionate  flood  of  tears. 
Poor  Sam  was  in  a  said  strait ;  but  his  heart  was  not  so 
heavy  as  when  under  the  impression  that  his  father  had 
fallen  again  into  his  evil  habits.  He  resolved,  however,  imme 
diately,  what  course  to  pursue. 

"  I  am  going  out,  ma.  Perhaps  I  can  get  him  clear  ;  if 
not,  I  shall  stay  with  him  till  morning.  I  cannot  leave  pa 
alone  in  that  dreadful  place  to-night." 

"  Oh,  Sammy  !  what  are  you  talking  about  ?     You  can- 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  81 

not  go  out  in  such  a  storm,  and  then  to  stay  all  night  in  that 
awful  jail." 

"  I  don't  care  for  the  storm,  Ma ;  and  the  jail  won't  be 
worse  for  me  than  it  will  be  for  him." 

"  Well,  Sammy,  I  don't  know  what  to  say,  my  poor  head 
is  so  bewildered.  If  it  wasn't  for  these  little  ones,  I  would 
go  with  you." 

Sam  immediately  went  to  his  chest,  and  taking  out  all  his 
little  store  of  money,  put  it  with  that  which  he  had  brought 
home  that  day — in  all,  it  amounted  to  three  dollars ;  he 
then  took  the  jewel  which  had  been  presented  to  him, — a 
handsome  brooch,  in  the  form  of  a  harp,  and  set  with  stones 
— worth  no  small  sum  in  money;  but  to  Sam,  more  valuable 
than  hoards  of  gold,  aud  which  no  money  would  have  pur 
chased  from  him,  and  placed  it  in  the  bag  with  his  little  trea 
sure.  He  then  threw  over  him  an  old  garment,  to  protect 
himself  in  some  measure  from  the  rain,  aud  telling  his  mo 
ther  "  to  keep  up  a  good  heart,"  left  the  house.  He  took  the 
road  leading  to  Mr.  Grizzle's  store,  and  forgetting  the  fatigue 
of  the  day,  hurried  along  as  fast  as  the  storm  would  permit. 
Mr.  Grizzle  was  sitting  on  his  counter,  resting  his  feet  on  an 
old  rickety  bench,  and  humming  a  tune  by  way  of  company, 
for  the  usual  visitors  of  the  evening  were  not  in. 

Sam  took  off  his  hat  as  he  entered,  and  walking  up  to 
Mr.  Grizzle,  looked  him  fall  in  the  face,  but  was  too  much 
out  of  breath  to  speak. 

The  old  man  stopped  his  tune,  and  looked  quite  smilingly 
at  Sam. 

"  Well,  my  lad,  how  do  you  do  this  evening  ?  All  well 
at  home  ?" 

"  Here,  Mr.  Grizzle,  is  all  the  money  we  have  ;  it  is  not 
much — but  I  thought  may  be  you  would  take  it ;  and  here  is 
something  that  is  worth  a  good  deal — you  may  keep  it  until 
we  bring  you  the  rest  of  the  money.  We  can  only  get  a  lit 
tle  at  a  time,  but  you  shall  have  it  all  as  fast  as  we  earn  it." 

"  Money,  boy !  Who  has  said  any  thing  to  you  about 
money?  I  haven't — have  I?" 

"  Why,  sir,  I  suppose  you  sent  Mr.  Tucker  to  our 
house  ?" 

"  Mr.  Tucker  !  He  has  been  to  see  you,  has  he  1  Well, 
lie  is  a  pretty  hard  customer.  Why  not  give  him  the 
money  ?" 

4* 


82  JAMES   MONTJOY  ]     OR, 

" But  he  has  taken  my  father  to  jail,  sir;  and  says  he 
must  have  the  whole  of  the  money — and  this  is  all  we  have 
got,"  holding  up  to  Mr.  Grizzle  his  little  handful  of  change. 
•'  Here  is  three  dollars,  sir ;  and  I  will  soon  get  you  some 
more,  and  you  may  keep  this  until  I  bring  it,"  taking  up  also 
his  brooch. 

"  What,  gold,  ha  !  You  must  be  pretty  well  off  at  your 
house — pretty  well  off." 

"  Do,  Mr.  Grizzle,  take  this,  and  let  my  father  go.  We 
will  pay  you  every  cent  he  owes,  just  as  fast  as  we  can  ;  I 
promise  you.  sir,  upon  my  honor." 

"  Oh,  you  had  better  go  to  Mr  Tucker's,  he  will  take  the 
money,  I  guess :  and  that  thing  too ;  may  be  he  can  find  an 
owner  for  it ;  [f,  don't  look  as  if  it  had  been  living  among  poor 
folks." 

Sam's  heart  was  beginning  to  sink ;  he  perceived  that 
Mr.  Grizzle  was  only  mocking  him.  But  he  did  not  quite 
understand  what  he  meant  by  '•  finding  an  owner  for  it." 

"  I  am  the  owner  of  this,  Mr.  Grizzle." 

"  Are  you  ?  you  look  a  good  deal  like  it."  And  he  cast 
his  eye  down  at  Sam.  surveying  him  from  head  to  foot.  This 
was  more  than  he  could  bear ;  his  heart  beat  quick,  his  face 
reddened ;  he  would  not  then  have  asked  a  favor  of  that  old 
withered  wretch,  had  it  been  to  save  himself  or  his  family 
from  certain  ruin.  He'put  his  money  and  jewel  back  again 
into  his  pocket,  picked  up  his  hat  from  the  bench  on  which 
he  had  laid  it,  and  turning  his  back  on  the  store  and  its 
owner,  hurried  away,  wishing  that  he  might  never  see  either 
again. 

The  building  used  for  the  graceless  evil-doers,  and  pen 
niless  paupers  of  this  vicinity,  was  not  a  very  sightly  object ; 
and  its  appearance  was  in  keeping  with  its  hideous  charac 
ter.  It  was  a  square,  two-storied  building,  without  any 
paint ;  the  clapboards  and  roof  were  gray  and  mossy  ;  storms 
and  sunshine  had  played  upon  it  for  fifty  years ;  and  it  was 
none  the  better  for  its  age.  In  the  upper  story  could  be 
seen  one  room,  with  a  small  window  at  the  end.  with  iron 
bars  crossing,  suificiently  near  together  to  keep  a  prisoner 
from  getting  through,  if  he  was  somewhat  corpulent ;  but 
most  rogues  and  poor  men.  not  being  that  way  inclined, 
could,  if  so  disposed,  have  found  a  way  out  with  a  little  hard 
squeezing.  But  whether  any  did  ever  get  out,  in  that  way, 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING. 


83 


.1  never  learned, — perhaps  the  sight  of  the  iron  was  enough. 
The  other  apartments  of  the  house  had  windows,  open  as 
one  could  desire  ;  glass  may  once  have  formed  some  ob 
struction,  to  the  birds  at  least ;  but  it  had  disappeared  "  long 
time  ago,"  and  in  place  thereof,  shingles,  old  hats,  old  clothes 
— any  thing  that  would  keep  out  the  rain  and  the  cold  for 
the  time  being,  was  substituted.  It  was  inhabited  by  a 
family,  which,  for  want  of  all  those  qualities  and  qualifica 
tions  that  would  have  fitted  them  for  any  other  situation, 
were  content  to  abide  here.  Old  Adam  Tice  had  never  been 
able  to  comprehend  the  difference  between  mine  and  thine. 
He  was  not  particularly  bad  in  any  other  way ;  but  it  was 
generally  thought  that  his  boys  would,  in  time,  carry  out 
his  principles  a  little  beyond  their  parent ;  and  his  son  Bill, 
whom  we  have  been  introduced  to  at  Mr.  Grizzle's,  had,  on 
more  than  one  occasion,  enjoyed  the  occupancy  of  the  room 
with  the  grated  window. 

As  there  was  but  one  apartment  in  this  building  suited 
for  close  confinement,  it  sometimes  occurred,  that  an  unfor 
tunate  debtor,  who  had  no  friend  to  bail  him  out,  so  as  to 
allow  him  the  privilege,  if  such  he  should  esteem  it,  of  ranging 
the  lot  on  which  the  house  was  built,  and  taking  up  his  abode 
with  Mr.  Tice,  must  share  the  grated  room  with  some  vile 
character,  whose  deeds  against  humanity  had  brought  him 
there  ;  and  such  was  the  case  now.  Two  notorious  vagabonds, 
guilty  of  flagrant  crimes,  the  very  offscouring  of  the  earth, 
were  there ;  and  nightly  they  filled  the  old  jail  with  noise 
and  riot,  as  though  fiends  were  holding  their  orgies.  It 
made  even  old  Tice  shudder,  as  their  horrid  oaths  rang 
through  the  building  in  the  darkness  of  the  night ;  and  he 
almost  regretted  that  he  had  procured  the  liquor  which  had 
thus  given  them  the  inspiration  of  demons. 

I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  the  feelings  of  poor  Mr. 
Oakum,  when  he  heard  the  key  turned  upon  him,  and  found 
himself  in  such  company.  Some  straw  was  placed  for  him, 
at  one  end  of  the  room,  out  of  the  reach  of  his  fellow-prison 
ers,  who  were  chained.  He  tottered  towards  it,  and  was  glad 
to  cast  himself  down  upon  it.  Sorrow  will  sometimes  lull 
her  suffering  children  to  sleep  :  oblivion,  like  a  handmaid  of 
charity,  steals  upon  them  and  shuts  up  the  senses.  Helpless 
and  almost  hopeless,  his  mind  could  no  longer  bear  the 
thoughts  that  haunted  it,  but  settled  away  into  unconscious- 


84  JAMES   MONTJOY  J     OR, 

ness.  Occasionally  some  dreadful  oath  would  rouse  him, 
or  the  deep  rolling  thunder,  but  only  for  a  moment ;  when 
thoughts  of  home,  and  wife  and  children,  would  with  light 
ning  speed  flash  upon  his  mind  ;  and  then,  overpowered  with 
his  sad  condition,  he  would  again  sink  into  unconsciousness. 

At  length  he  started  from  his  bed  of  straw,  awakened  by 
the  spring  of  the  heavy  bolt,  that  was  suddenly  drawn  back. 
He  cast  his  eager  glance  upon  the  door  ;  a  light  glimmered 
through  a  small  square  aperture  at  the'top — the  latch  was 
raised — his  senses  he  feared  were  leaving  him  ;  for  there  stood 
Sam,  his  dear,  good  child.  Mr.  Tice  threw  the  light  of  his 
lamp  upon  that  corner  of  the  room,  and  Sam  walked  directly 
to  his  father. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  boy,  is  that  you  ?  is  it  you,  Sammy  ?" 

"  I  thought  I  would  come  and  stay  with  you  to-night, 
Pa." 

"  Oh,  Sammy,  I  do  not  mind  this  for  my  own  sake  ;  I 
deserve  it :  my  own  foolishness  has  brought  this  on  to  me." 

"  Don't  talk  so,  Pa  ;  you  haven't  done  wrong.  I  will  get 
you  out,  yet,  and  it  will  all  be  better  than  ever." 

His  father  could  make  no  reply ;  his  heart  was  melted, 
and  thoughts  different  from  any  he  had  ever  indulged  before, 
began  to  agitate  him.  God  had  not  forsaken  him  ;  this 
child  was  an  angel  of  mercy,  sent  to  cheer  his  gloom,  and 
give  hope  to  his  heart.  New  and  strange  feelings  towards 
his  Creator,  arose  from  within — how  good,  how  forbearing, 
how  full  of  compassion.  New  feelings  in  regard  to  himself, 
oppressed  him.  A  great  sinner,  both  towards  God  and  the 
dear  ones  Grod  had  given  him,  could  he  be  pardoned  ?  He 
remembered  the  thief  upon  the  cross;  and  his  whole  heart 
arose  in  one  strong  impulse.  "  Lord,  help  me  !  save  me  !" 
It  was  a  simple  prayer — it  was  only  breathed — but  it  was 
heard  in  heaven.  And  swift  as  angels  fly,  sweet  peace  came 
down  and  stole  into  his  bosom ;  and  there,  amid  that  gloom 
and  in  that  dire  abode,  whispered  of  pardon  and  hope  and 
a  Friend  above. 

But  where  did  Sam  obtain  that  strong  assurance  that  all 
would  yet  be  well — better  than  ever  ?  It  was  no  fiction  in 
vented  to  soothe  his  father's  troubled  mind.  Sam  really  felt 
and  truly  believed  it  would  be  so.  Ever  since  that  dark 
hour  upon  the  rock  by  the  water-side,  when  his  companions 
came  to  him  with  their  plan  of  enterprise  ;  had  resolution. 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  85 


strong  as  his  love  of  life,  nerved  his  heart.  He  had,  since 
then,  tasted  the  rich  fruits  of  honest  labor ;  and  his  eyes 
were  enlightened,  and  his  hope  and  courage  made  strong. 
His  parents  and  sisters  had  already  been  made  happy  by 
his  exertions,  and  his  way  was  enlarging  before  him.  The 
present  hour  was  one  of  severe  trial,  but  his  courage  was 
not  shaken  by  it,  and  he  believed  most  firmly  that  it  would 
be  with  them  "  better  than  it  had  ever  been." 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning  when  Sam  left  the  jail,  and 
hurried  on  his  way,  to  carry  what  comfort  he  could  to  his 
home.  He  would  have  avoided  every  human  being  if  he 
could,  but  just  as  he  was  about  to  pass  the  road  which  ran 
down  to  the  blacksmith's  shop,  Mr.  Cutter's  two  boys  saw 
him,  and  being  social  fellows,  ran  up  and  began,  in  their  free- 
and-easy  boy's  style,  to  question  him  about  what  he  was 
doing  there  that  time  of  day,  and  where  he  had  been,  and 
so  on.  Sam's  heart  was  about  as  full  as  it  could  hold.  They 
were  wild  boys,  but  of  a  kind  nature,  and  felt  a  right  good 
will  towards  Sam.  They  perceived  that  he  was  in  trouble, 
for  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes  when  they  spoke  to  him. 

"  Now,  Sam,  what's  the  matter  ?  tell  me  who's  been  hurt 
ing  you.  I'll  give  it  to  him — who  is  it?  See  if  I  don't." 
And  Bill  Cutter  doubled  up  his  fists,  and  put  himself  in  a 
posture  to  go  right  at  it.  Sam  Cutter  was  a  little  softer  in 
his  composition  than  his  brother ;  and  while  Bill  was  put 
ting  himself  into  a  great  rage  with  somebody  or  other,  he 
did  not  care  who,  Sam  put  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  his 
companion : 

"  Tell  me,  Sammy,  what's  the  matter."  The  storm,  which 
had  been  so  long  pent  up,  broke  forth ;  this  made  both  boys 
more  solicitous  to  find  out  the  cause  of  his  trouble ;  until 
Sam  was  compelled  to  tell  the  whole. 

No  sooner  had  they  heard  the  story,  than,  seizing  Sam, 
each  by  an  arm,  they  fairly  forced  him  along. 

"  Come  along,  right  in,  Sam  Oakum,  and  tell  Pap  all 
about  it." 

And  on  he  had  to  go,  straight  through  the  old  shop,  into 
a  little  back  yard,  and  then  into  a  little  old  house.  The 
table  was  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  on  which  lay  the  remains 
of  the  breakfast,  which  had  just  been  eaten. 

Mrs.  Cutter  was  stooping  over  the  fire,  and  doing  some 
thing  with  a  kettle  which  hung  there ;  and  as  they  entered, 


86  JAMES   MONTJOY ;     OR, 


she  turned  her  very  large  eyes  upon  the  boys.  I  say  large, 
because  they  were  naturally  very  expansive,  and  because  she 
wore  on  the  bridge  of  her  nose,  right  before  them,  a  pair  of 
nose  spectacles ;  they  were  large,  too,  in  contrast  with  the 
other  members  of  her  countenance,  for  while  these  were  very 
round  and  full,  every  thing  else  in  sight  was  very  long  and 
sharp  ; — her  nose  was  long,  and  her  chin  was  long,  and  her 
hands  and  arms  were  long ;  and  other  parts  must  have  been 
long,  too,  for  when  she  let  go  the  kettle  and  raised  herself 
up,  she  appeared  all  length — of  breadth,  there  was  nothing 
to  mention,  except  the  eyes. 

"  What  upon  airth  is  the  matter  ?  what  are  you  doin'  with 
that  boy?  See,  Cutter,  they've  been  a  hurtin'  on  him — he's 
a  cryin'  now — oh  the  massys !  let  him  go,  you  good-for- 
nothins  you,  let  him  go." 

"  No,  we  aint  been  hurting  him,  neither, — what  do  you 
think,  Pap  1  they've  been  putting  Sam  Oakum's  Pa  in  the 
old  cage,  they  have." 

Mr.  Cutter  was  sitting  yet  at  the  table ;  Tie  and  his  good 
woman  were  the  reverse  of  each  other,  in  more  ways  than 
one.  He  was,  as  we  have  seen,  very  large  and  full-bodied ; 
while  she  was  as  she  was.  Standing  and  walking  and  going 
about,  seemed  to  be,  each  of  them,  her  natural  situation ; 
while,  with  him,  standing  was  not  to  be  thought  of,  if  there 
was  any  chance  for  a  seat  j  and  when  once  at  the  table  he 
seemed  willing  there  to  stay,  until  Mrs.  Cutter  had  cleared 
plates,  dishes,  and  the  table  itself  from  before  him.  As  the 
boys  entered  he  pushed  himself  round,  and  looked  in  quiet 
amazement  at  them. 

"  Who  is  tliey  ?  who's  put  him  in  jail  ?" 

"  Old  Grizzle,  Pap ;  only  think.  Ding  him,  if  I  aint 
a  mind  to  kill  the  old  varmint ;  I'll  burn  his  house  down." 

"  Wliist,  hush,  hold  your  tongue,  you  scoundrel ;  how 
dare  you  talk  so?" 

And  the  old  man,  in  his  energy  to  do  something  to  show 
his  displeasure  at  such  threats,  caught  hold  of  the  pitcher, 
which  yet  stood  on  the  table  before  him,  and  thinking  not  of 
its  contents,  elevated  it  above  his  head  in  a  threatening 
manner  at  his  lawless  son.  Cider  he  liked  well  enough  in 
its  proper  place  ;  but  a  shower  of  it  on  his  bald  head,  and  in 
his  eyes,  and  so  on,  was  another  thing ;  it  took  him  by  sur- 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  87 

prise.  He  let  the  pitcher  go,  and  put  his  hands  to  the 
afflicted  parts. 

Crockery  is  brittle  stuff;  it  could  not  stand  every  thing, 
any  more  than  Mrs.  Cutter's  temper  could.  To  see  the  look 
of  horror  she  cast  upon  the  dripping  head  of  her  husband, 
and  then  at  the  broken  pieces  of  her  pitcher,  the  very  last 
thing  in  the  house  "her  mother  gin'  her,"  as  she  often  said ; 
with  her  long  arms  and  bony  fingers  stretched  out  in  the  air, 
was  rather  frightful.  The  moment  the  old  man  could  re 
cover  himself  sufficiently  to  realize  what  he  had  done,  and 
what  he  had  to  expect,  he  exclaimed,  very  significantly, 

"  Oh  dear  !"  and  rose  up  as  hastily  as  he  could,  design 
ing  to  retreat  to  his  shop,  his  usual  refuge  from  a  storm. 

"  Oh  dear  !  you  may  well  say  so — of  all  things.  Well, 
Cutter,  now  you  see  what  you've  done.  I've  told  you  it 
would  be  so  ;  the  very  last  thing  my  mother  gin'  me, — slam 
it  right  down  on  the  harth, — isn't  that  purty  ?  you've  been 
breakin'  and  breakin'  all  your  life  ;  and  now  you've  broke 
the  pitcher." 

He  said  not  a  word  in  reply,  but  taking  hold  of  Sam 
Oakum,  pulled  him  along  towards  the  shop.  Finding  that 
her  husband  was  fast  retreating  from  the  sound  of  her  voice, 
she  turned  the  battery  upon  her  two  boys,  who  were  eyeing 
the  broken  crockery  with  no  very  equivocal  looks. 

"  And  you,  you  villains  !  comin'  and  settin'  your  Pap 
crazy  with  your  lies — out  of  the  house  with  you,  this  instant." 
A.nd  she  made  a  push  for  the  broomstick.  They  understood 
her  kind  intentions  right  well,  having  had  large  experience 
in  that  way,  and  did  not  wait  for  any  further  instructions ; 
but  made  after  their  father  with  all  speed. 

Once  in  the  shop,  the  old  man  felt  safe.  He  had  kept 
fast  hold  of  Sam,  and  sitting  down  on  his  usual  block,  held 
him  off  at  arms-length  with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other, 
and  the  aid  of  an  old  handkerchief,  he  wiped  down  his  bald 
head,  and  round,  good-natured  countenance. 

"Oh  dear  !  it  was  unlucky  about  that  pitcher,  I  shall 
never  hear  the  last  on  it  Tell  me  now,  Sammy,  what  is 
all  this  ?  It  aint  true — is  it  ?  that  old  varmint  aint  put  your 
Pap  in  jail,  has  he?  Don't  cry  now,  but  just  tell  me  the 
whole  on  it." 

Sam  told  his  story  as  well  as  he  could,  but  it  was  hard 
work.  He  could  command  his  feelings  very  well,  when  only 


JAMES  MONTJOY;    OR, 


thinking  about  it ;  but  when  compelled  to  speak  his  father's 
name,  his  lip  trembled,  and  the  words  came  out  with  great 
difficulty.  Mr.  Cutter  had  a  very  tender  heart  of  his  own, 
and  Sam's  story  and  appearance  worked  upon  him  more  and 
more ;  so  that  he  kept  the  old  handkerchief  wiping  away, 
long  after  the  cider  shower  had  dried  off. 

And  why  didn't  you  come  to  me,  and  tell  me  about  it  ? 
Aiut  I  known  your  father  from  a  boy.  and  your  mother  too — 
bless  her  good  soul ;  and  do  you  think  I  would  have  let 
such  doings  as  these  gone  on  ?  That  old  varmint — is  that 
the  way  he  is  goin'  to  serve  folks  ?  Send  'em  to  jail,  to  lay 
there  with  them  dreadful  rapscallions  ?  Oh  dear  ! — jist  to 
think  on  it !  And  you  was  comin'  here  to  tell  me  about  it 
this  morning  ;  wasn't  you,  Sammy  ? 

"  No,  sir,  I  was  going  home." 

"  Going  home  ?    Why,  where  have  you  been  ?" 

"  I've  been  with  Pa  all  night." 

"  You  ?  He  didn't  put  you  there  too,  did  he  ?  the  old 
sinner  !" 

"  Oh  no,  sir,  but  I  went  there  to  stay  with  him.  I  thought 
Pa  would  feel  so  bad." 

"  You  blessed  child  !  Oh  dear,  what  are  we  comin'  to  ? 
And  you  aint  had  no  breakfast.  Here,  boys,  go  in  and  ask 
your  Mam  to  give  this  poor  child  a  little  something." 

"  Oh  no,  sir,  I  thank  you,  I  can't  stay ;  for  Ma  will  feel 
bad  if  I  don't  go  home ;  and  I  aint  hungry  a  bit." 

"  Yes,  you  are  hungry — you  know  you  are — only  you 
feel  so  bad,  you  can't  eat.  But  I  tell  you,  don't  feel  bad  ; 
you  mustn't.  Your  Pa  shan't  stay  there  in  that  hole  ;  I  tell 
you  he  shan't.  He  shall  see  that  he's  got  some  friends. 
We  aint  all  dead  and  buried  yet,  I  hope." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Cutter  !"  and  Sam,  as  he  said  this,  caught 
hold  of  him  with  both  his  hands ;  "  if  you  can  do  any  thing 
to  help  get  my  father  out  of  that  dreadful  place,  I  will  thank 
you  all  my  life  for  it.  and  I  will  pay  you  every  cent  of  the 
money,  just  as  fast  as  I  can  earn  it."  And  he  looked  so 
earnestly  into  Mr.  Cutter's  face,  and  his  bright  black  eyes 
sparkled  with  such  an  intensity  of  feeling,  that  the  old 
man's  heart  must  have  been  made  of  much  sterner  stuff  than 
it  was,  not  to  have  felt  the  appeal. 

"  There,  go  home — go  home,  Sammy ;  don't  say  no  more." 
And  he  fairly  pushed  Sam  away  from  him  ;  and  then  he  kept 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  89 

the  old  handkerchief  going  for  some  time,  not  saying  a  word 
to  either  of  his  boys,  who  stood  looking  after  Sam,  as  he 
went  away,  and  pitying  him  from  their  hearts. 

"Now,  boys,  go  and  catch  the  old  mare,  and  hitch  her  to 
the  cart ;  and  one  of  you  must  drive  me  to  Billy  Blood- 
good's.  Billy  must  help  about  this  business,  if  I  can  only 
make  him  hear  any  thing  :  but  it's  like  raising  the  dead." 

The  boys  went  off  with  a  good  will,  and  soon  had  the 
old  nag  tackled  to  the  cart,  her  harness  being  of  a  very 
simple  kind,  and  easily  adjusted. 

Mr.  Cutter  had  a  way  of  his  own  about  almost  every 
thing,  and  it  extended  even  to  his  manner  of  riding.  Too 
bulky  to  climb  very  high  places,  he  chose,  generally,  the 
lowest  seat  he  could  find  ;  and  the  tail  of  the  cart  being  more 
easily  attained  than  any  other  part,  and  moreover,  being 
easily  resigned  in  case  of  accident,  whenever  Mr.  Cutter 
rode,  that  was  his  place.  He  would  sit  pretty  well  in  on  the 
body,  with  his  legs  dangling  behind,  and  one  hand  on  each 
of  the  side-boards.  To  an  observer,  it  appeared  to  be  a  very 
uneasy  situation  ;  for  the  mare  had  a  peculiar  gait,  something 
between  a  rack  and  a  pace,  which  not  only  imparted  a  quick 
up  and  down  motion  to  the  stern  of  the  vehicle,  but  a  lateral 
one  likewise  ;  so  that  from  the  time  she  started  until  she 
stoppled,  Mr.  Cutter  was  not  only  carried  onward,  but  every 
which  way :  there  was  no  quiet  for  his  body.  He  never 
complained  of  it,  however,  nor  seemed  to  realize  any  thing 
out  of  the  way. 

Billy  Bloodgood  was  just  going  out  of  his  gate,  when 
Mr.  Cutter  drove  up.  Knowing  that  it  would  be  useless 
trying  to  hold  a  parley  with  him  out  there,  he  told  his  son 
to  drive  close  to  the  door ;  and  taking  Mr.  Bloodgood  by  the 
arm,  pulled  him  along,  determined  not  to  let  him  go,  as  he 
was  well  acquainted  with  his  peculiarities.  So.  holding  on 
with  one  hand  to  the  side  of  the  doorway,  and  with  the  other 
to  his  friend,  he  entered  into  Mrs.  Bloodgood's  sanctum. — her 
kitchen,  parlor,  and  bedroom.  Puffing  and  blowing,  he 
seized  the  first  chair  he  could  find,  and  bestowed  himself 
upon  it. 

"  Now,  woman,  do  you  make  this  husband  of  yours  sit 
down,  for  I  want  to  talk  to  him ;  and  he'll  be  running  off,  if 
you  don't  see  to  him." 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter,  Uncle  Sam  ?  you're  all  in  a 


90  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

heat,  and  out  o'  breath.  Aint  nothing  happened  to  home, 
has  there  ?" 

"  Happened  ?  Yes,  there  has  something  happened — 
there's  always  something  or  other  happening  in  this  world  ; 
but  that  aint  neither  here  nor  there.  I  can  get  along  with 
that.  The  wind  will  have  its  blow  out,  and  then  it  will 
stop,  and  so  must  a  woman's  tongue.  But  I  tell  you,  make 
that  man  of  yours  sit  down,  and  do  you  come  and  listen  to 
me,  and  then  try  to  git  it  into  his  head,  for  it's  beyond  me 
to  do  it." 

Mrs.  Bloodgood  did  as  she  was  bidden  ;  for  she  had  great 
respect  for  Uncle  Sam  Cutter.  She  placed  a  seat  close  be 
side  him  for  her  husband,  and  another  for  herself  immedi 
ately  before  him. 

"  Do  you  know  that  our  neighbor  Oakum  is  in  jail  ?" 

"  In  jail !     Oh  land  !  how  you  do  talk  !" 

"  It  is  true — I  tell  you  so." 

"  Then  it's  Grizzle — I  know  it  is.  First,  he's  'ticed  him 
to  drink,  and  then  he's  come  upon  him.  Aint  it  so,  Uncle 
Sam  ?» 

"  Yes ;  but  hear  me.  Oakum  aint  the  same  man  he 
•was — don't  you  know  that  ?  He's  a  clean  changed  man. 
He's  to  work  now  every  day,  and  brings  home  all  his  earn 
ings  every  night  to  his  family,  and  stays  to  home,  and  acts 
like  a  man  ;  and  his  wife  looks  like  a  new  critter,  and  things 
all  round  his  house  look  so  you  wouldn't  hardly  know  it.  And 
now,  j  ist  as  they  are  beginning  to  be  a  little  like  folks,  and  have 
things  right  end  up,  that  old  varmint  takes  the  law  on  him, 
and  puts  him  in  the  old  cage,  among  them  rapscallions  there, 
jist  as  if  he  was  a  thief  or  a  murderer." 

"  Oh  land  !  jist  to  think  on  it." 

"  And  there's  that  blessed  child  of  his,  been  through  all 
the  rain  and  thunder  and  lightning,  and  went  and  stayed 
there  all  night,  because  he  couldn't  bear  to  leave  his  Pap 
alone — jist  think  of  that ;  and  that  poor  woman,  all  stark 
alone  with  them  little  children — jist  think  of  that.  Don't  it 
make  your  heart  ache  ?" 

"  Oh  land,  }and !  what  are  we  coinin'  to  ? — jist  think 
of  it." 

Mrs.  Bloodgood  had  her  own  peculiar  ways,  and  was  not 
always  very  particular  what  she  said  or  did.  when  overcome 
by  the  little  vexations  of  life  ;  but  she  had  a  feeling  heart, 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  91 

and  would  cry  as  hard  as  she  would  scold,  if  there  was 
any  thing  calculated  in  an  especial  manner  to  bring  tears  ; 
and  now  they  were  chasing  each  other  down  her  cheeks 
faster  than  she  could  wipe  them  away. 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  cry  about  it.  I  tell  you  what :  when 
that  little  fellow  took  hold  on  me  this  morning,  and  begged 
me  to  help  his  Pap,  and  looked  up  at  me  so  pitiful,  and  said 
that  he  would  thank  me  all  his  life,  and  pay  every  cent  of 
the  debt  as  fast  as  he  could  earn  it ; — why  I  tell  you,  Sally, 
I  cried  like  a  child.  And  now,  I  tell  you  what  it  is ;  we 
mustn't  leave  that  man  lying  there  like  a  thief.  I  can't  eat, 
nor  sleep — I  can't  do  it,  Sally.  I  haven't  got  but  little  ; 
but  Billy  must  help — it's  thirty  dollars.  I  know  it's  a  great 
deal  for  poor  folks  to  raise,  but  it  must  be  done,  somehow — 
mustn't  it,  Sally?" 

Mr.  Bloodgood  had  been  a  silent  spectator  of  the  scene — 
he  could  not  be  said  to  be  a  listener.  He  saw  that  Mr.  Cut 
ter  was  very  much  engaged,  and  that  his  wife  was  quite  to 
the  other  extremity  of  her  feelings  ;  but  what  was  to  pay,  he 
did  not  know.  He  kept  looking  first  at  one,  and  then  at  the 
other,  for  some  explanation,  taking  large  pinches  of  snuff  all 
the  time  from  a  horn  box  which  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"  Any  body  dead  ?" 

Mrs.  Bloodgood  put  her  nose  close  to  his  ear,  and  hal 
looed — "  No." 

Mr.  Cutter  pushed  his  chair  back  a  little, — the  un 
earthly  noise  startled  him. 

"  Why  !  do  you  have  to  holler  at  that  rate  ?  I  should 
think  you'd  split  your  throat,  or  your  nose,  or  something  or 
other.  I  never  heard  such  a  noise." 

"  Oh  land !  I  tell  you,  Uncle  Sam,  he  gits  wus  and 
wus.  I  do  candidly  believe  it's  the  snuif ;  he  stops  every 
thing  up  with  it.  His  head  aint  got  no  more  sound  to  it 
than  the  harth  stotfe." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  but  it's  the  best  thing  he  can  do,  if 
he's  got  to  have  sich  noises  as  them  made  in  it.  I  should 
want  to  stop  every  thing  up  too  ;  and  how  upon  airth  you  are 
ever  going  to  tell  him  what  I  want,  I  don't  see.  Let  me 
get  a  little  ways  off  afore  you  begin ;  my  head  sings  now 
like  a  dozen  teakettles." 

With  that  the  old  man  pushed  his  chair  off  against  the 
opposite  wall,  while  Mrs.  Bloodgood  undertook  the  task  of 


92  JAMES    MONTJOY  j     OR, 

explaining  matters  to  her  husband,  and  she  accomplished  it 
in  much  less  time  than  could  have  been  expected.  Being 
nowise  friendly  to  Mr.  Grizzle,  she  handled  his  name  in  a 
very  free  way ;  and  as  her  husband  confided  in  her  manage 
ment,  when  she  was  through  with  the  story,  he  looked  at  her 
very  significantly — 

"  Shall  I  do  it,  Sally  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  do  it — quick." 

So  he  looked  at  Mr.  Cutter,  smiled,  and  nodded,  and  then 
left  the  room. 

"  Well,  well ;  all  things  was  made  for  some  use.  I  often 
wondered  what  your  nose  was  made  for,  but  I  see  now.  But 
it  will  be  the  death  of  you,  yet ;  you'll  split  something  or 
other  one  of  these  days." 

"  Oh  land,  Uncle  Sam,  you  see  I'm  used  to  it ;  but  it 
does  make  me  weak  at  the  stomach  like,  it  takes  sich  a  power 
of  wind  to  keep  it  up  any  time  so  ;  a  body  can  holler  pretty 
loud  two  or  three  words,  and  not  mind  it.  But  I  'spose  it's 
my  lot,  and  I  must  be  content  with  it." 

Mr.  Bloodgood  soon  returned,  making  signs  to  Uncle  Sam 
to  draw  up  to  the  table.  We  must  leave  them  to  arrange 
matters,  and  carry  out  their  kind  designs  as  best  they  may 
be  able. 

How  beautifully  the  water  sparkled  with  the  bright  rays 
of  the  morning  sun.  and  how  clean  the  shore  looked,  and 
how  fresh  every  thing  appeared,  as  Sam  drew  near  to  his 
home  ;  but  how  very  sad  his  heart  was,  none  but  such  as  have 
suffered  like  him  can  well  imagine.  But  sad  as  were  his  feel 
ings,  it  did  not  hinder  his  attending  to  all  the  duties  which 
devolved  upon  him.  The  net  was  examined,  and  the  fish  for 
the  morning's  meal  brought  up.  The  pigs  were  fed,  and  the 
boat  looked  after,  and  all  things  done  as  usual.  It  was  a 
solitary  meal,  that  breakfast,  and  soon  ended.  But  the  best 
fish  were  frying  by  the  fire,  and  on  the  griddle  was  a  fine 
thick  bread-cake  cooking,  and  a  little  basket  was  brought  and 
placed  on  the  table,  and  a  clean  cloth  lay  beside  the  basket; 
and  Sam  had  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and  was  leaning  against 
the  fireplace,  watching  his  mother,  as  she  went  about  the  lit 
tle  room  getting  things  together. 

"  May  be  he'd  like  a  little  pickle,  Ma,  You  know  he 
eats  it  sometimes  with  his  breakfast."  And  the  mother 
made  no  reply ;  but,  wiping  away  the  tears  that  started  as 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  93 

reference  was  made  to  him,  she  went  directly  to  the  cup 
board  and  brought  the  pot  of  pickles ;  and  then  the  fish 
was  taken  from  the  fire,  and  placed  on  a  plate  and  put  into 
the  basket ;  and  the  cake  was  taken  from  the  griddle,  and 
broken  in  two  and  laid  on  the  fish ;  and  the  pickle,  and  a 
little  salt  and  pepper,  and  a  knife  and ;  fork  and  then  the 
clean  cloth  was  put  over  the  whole,  and  Sam,  taking  the 
basket,  walked  straight  out  of  the  house,  and  his  mother 
threw  herself  into  the  chair,  and  wept  aloud. 

As  Sam  ascended  the  little  rise  of  ground  behind  their 
dwelling,  he  looketl  across  to  the  house  of  his  friends,  Jim  and 
Ned,  to  see  if  they  were  out, — as  he  then  felt  a  sight  of  them 
would  be  good.  There  they  were,  working  away  in  their 
garden.  Presently  one  of  them  stops  and  looks  round,  walks 
to  the  fence,  jumps  over,  and  is  running  toward  Sam  with 
Jowler  after  him. 

"  There  comes  Ned.     What  shall  I  say  to  him  ?" 

"Sam,  how  are  you?  aint  this  a  beautiful  morning? 
What  have  you  got  in  your  basket?  where  are  you  go- 
ing?" 

"  Oh,  I  am  going  a  short  distance." 

"  If  you  are  not  going  too  far;  I'll  go  with  you.  I'm 
tired  of  hoeing.  Jim  has  had  me  up  ever  since  daybreak, 
and  I  mean  to  rest  a  few  minutes.  But  what  is  the  matter, 
Sam  ?  What  makes  you  look  so  ?  You  aint  well,  are 
you?" 

Sam  did  look  pale,  for  he  was  alarmed  at  Ned's  offer  to 
accompany  him. 

"  Oh,  I  think  you  had  better  not  go  with  me  ;  it  is  some 
thing  of  a  walk,  and  as  you  have  been  at  work  so  long,  you 
will  be  tired." 

"  No  ;  I  shan't  be  tired.  But  now,  Sam  Oakum,  tell  me 
what's  the  matter,"  at  the  same  time  taking  hold  of  him. 
"  There  is  something  the  matter,  I  know — you  always  tell 
me  every  thing." 

"  I  know  I  do,  Ned ;  but  somehow  I  do  not  like  to  tell 
you  this.  Haven't  you  heard  any  thing  ?" 

"  Heard  any  thing  ?  No.  Do  you  think  we  should  not 
have  been  down  to  see  you,  if  we  had  known  that  any  thing 
was  the  matter  ?  But  do  tell  me,  Sam." 

"  Pa  is  in  jail." 

"  That's  Grizzle." 


94  JAMES   MONTJOY  :    OR, 


"Yes." 

Ned  stooped  and  caught  up  a  good-sized  stone,  and  aim 
ing  it  at  another  still  larger,  sent  it  with  such  force,  that  it 
was  shivered  into  small  fragments.  He  then  looked  at  Sam 
a  moment,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  He  dared  not 
speak,  for  his  heart  was  aching  so  hard.  It  would  have  been 
a  great  relief  to  have  cried  ;  but  Ned  never  cried — he  could 
do  any  thing  but  that.  He  felt  so  much  like  it  now  though, 
as  he  kept  his  eyes  on  Sam,  who  looked  so  sad  and  pale,  that 
all  at  once  he  turned  short  round,  and  walked  away  towards 
home ;  and  Sam  went  on  his  way  toward  the  jail. 

The  two  miserable  beings  who  had  filled  the  old  jail  with 
their  ravings  through  most  of  the  night,  were  now  asleep ; 
and  as  Sam  was  admitted  again  into  the  miserable  room,  he 
cast  his  eye  upon  them  as  they  lay  in  all  their  loathsomeness. 
Never  before  had  he  seen  human  nature  in  such  an  appalling 
form  : — their  garments  filthy,  and  torn  into  shreds ;  their 
hair,  long  and  matted,  lay  over  their  faces  and  among  the 
straw  which  formed  their  bed  ;  their  faces  bloated,  bruised, 
and  bloody.  He  shrunk  back  involuntarily.  He  cast  his 
eye  to  the  further  end-  of  the  room,  and  it  mel  the  smile  of 
his  father.  He  hurried  past  these  dreadful  objects,  and 
placed  his  basket  beside  his  pale  and  sorrow-stricken  parent. 
Sam  started,  when  he  saw  how  very  pale  he  looked,  and  how 
great  a  change  his  countenance  had  undergone,  since  he  last 
*  saw  the  daylight  shine  upon  it.  He  took  off  the  cloth  which 
covered  the  basket,  and  upon  that  he  placed  the  good  break 
fast  his  mother  had  prepared ;  and  then  he  saw  his  father 
put  his  hands  together,  and  that  his  eyes  were  closed,  and 
his  lips  moved.  He  had  never  known  him  do  so  before. 
Could  it  be  that  he  was  praying  for  a  blessing,  ere  he  tasted 
this  token  of  love  from  earthly  dear  ones  and  heaven's  boun 
teous  King  ?  Oh,  Sam  !  how  little  can  you  realize  the  ordeal 
that  parent  has  passed  since  the  last  setting  sun.  But  the 
agony  that  racked  his  spirit  has  purified  it  also ;  and  it  has 
turned,  "  trembling,  hoping,"  to  its  God.  When  years  have 
passed,  and  you  shall  stand  by  his  dying  bed,  and  walk  in 
the  church-yard,  where  rises  the  little  mound  of  earth  over 
the  resting-place  of  his  body,  you  will  think  of  this  night, 
and  you  will  bless  God  for  his  goodness  to  you  and  yours. 

"  It  is  very  good,  Sammy ;  and  it  is  very  kind  in  you  all 
to  think  of  me  so." 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  95 


"  Oh,  Pa,  don't  say  so ;  it  makes  me  feel  so  bad." 

"  To  think  how  much  trouble  I  have  been  to  my  family." 

Sam  could  stand  it  no  longer,  but  wept  aloud. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  make  you  feel  bad,  Sammy ;  but  all 
your  kind  feelings,  and  all  your  mother's  kind  feelings,  make 
me  think  how  wrong  I  have  acted,  and  wonder  how  any  body 
can  care  for  me." 

"  But  they  do  care  for  you — every  body  cares  for  you. 
Uncle  Sam  Cutter  says  you  shan't  stay  here — that  you 
shan't." 

"  Did  he  say  so  ?  Well,  I  thank  him  for  his  kind  feel 
ings  ;  and  I  hope,  if  the  Lord  please,  I  may  get  my  liberty 
soon,  that  I  may  be  able  to  work  and  earn  an  nonest  living, 
and  pay  my  debts.  But,  Sammy,  this  place  aint  so  bad, 
gloomy  as  it  looks.  A  bad  life  and  a  guilty  conscience  are 
harder  things  to  get  along  with  than  this  jail.  I  have  spent 
worse  hours,  looking  at  you  and  your  mother,  and  the  little 
ones,  with  a  fire  burning  in  my  bosom,  than  I  spent  here 
last  night.  I  never  knew  before  that  there  could  be  such 
things." 

"What  things,  Pa?" 

"  Why,  Sammy,  that  there  could  be  such  peace  within, 
when  all  about  me  was  so  horrible.  But  I  believe  God  has 
done  it — and  all  for  my  good.  He  does  every  thing  for 
good." 

Sam  was  utterly  confounded  at  hearing  such  words  from 
his  father ;  but  he  rejoiced  to  hear  them.  He  sat  as  long 
as  he  thought  consistent  with  duties  at  home,  and  was  pre 
paring  to  return,  when  their  attention  was  arrested  by  a 
bustle  below  stairs,  and  a  loud  puffing  and  blowing  of  some 
one  ascending  to  the  room. 

"  What  steps  you've  got  here,  Mr.  Tice  ! — so  high,  I  can 
hardly  get  my  old  carcass  up.  Oh,  dear,  dear,  dear ;  what  a 
world  this  is !" 

The  heavy  bolt  was  drawn ;  and  as  the  door,  creaking  on 
its  hinges,  slowly  opened,  the  portly  form  of  Mr.  Samuel 
Cutter  appeared,  filling  the  open  space,  and  looking  with  a 
wild  stare  into  and  around  the  room. 

"  You  can  go  clean  in,  Mr.  Cutter,  an  you  like  to ;  and 
I'll  shut  the  door,  and  you  may  stay  as  long  as  you  like." 

"You  will,  hey?  No,  no,  Mr.  Tice,  thank  you,  I'll  do 
well  enough  here ;"  at  the  same  time  putting  his  hand  out, 


96  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

and  holding  fast  to  the  door.  "  None  of  your  shutting  up  ; 
its  bad  enough  to  look  at,  without  your  turning  the  old  lock 
on  a  body.  Of  all  sights  !  ! — are  these  men  dead?" 

"  Oh  it  aint  nothin',  Mr.  Cutter ;  only  they've  been  a 
little  lively  last  night,  and  they're  a  sleepin'  it  out,  I  guess, 
this  mornin'." 

"  You  don't  call  them  human  critters,  laying  there  in  that 
shape,  Mr.  Tice,  do  you  ?" 

':  Yes  they  be,,  only  their  hair  is  got  tangled  a  little.  I 
should  a'  most  think  they'd  been  a  fightin',  by  their  looks : 
they  do  look  bad,  that's  a  fact." 

More  noises  were  now  heard  below,  and  there  was  the 
trampling  of  horses  at  the  door,  and  soon  a  lively  treading 
up  the  stairs. 

"  What  does  this  mean,  Mr.  Tice  ?  the  jail  door  open, 
and  people  going  in  and  out.  Are  the  prisoners  gone  ?" 
And  Mr.  Richard  Tucker  bustled  up  into  the  room.  He 
was  followed  by  Billy  Bloodgood,  and  Uncle  Sam  Cutter's 
two  boys.  Mr  Richard  seeing  the  doorway  barricaded  by  a 
pretty  large  body,  made  no  apology  for  hastily  pushing 
through,  and  fairly  taking  the  old  gentleman  quite  into  the 
room.  He  was  about  to  shut  the  door,  when  his  arm  was 
seized  and  held  by  a  grip  as  effectual  as  though  an  iron  vice 
had  embraced  it. 

"  Stop,  stop,  man ;  none  of  your  shutting  up,  with  my 
carcass  in  such  a  den  as  this.  And  besides,  you  came  here 
now  to  let  folks  out ;  so  the  sooner  you  set  about  it,  the 
better." 

Mr.  Richard  was  full  of  wrath ;  but  he  knew  whom  he 
had  to  deal  with  ;  and  seeing  likewise  that  Billy  Bloodgood 
was  looking  at  him  very  earnestly,  and  pointing  towards  Mr. 
Oakum,  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  he  had  no  alternative  ; 
so  called  aloud  in  a  very  quick  manner, 

"  Mr.  Oakum,  you  are  at  liberty,  you  are  released  ;  you 
can  go." 

Sam  jumped  up,  and  caught  hold  of  his  father : 

"  Oh  Pa  !  come,  come,  Pa,  quick  !"  And  he  fairly  pulled 
his  father  along ;  who.  amazed  at  the  suddenness  of  his  de 
livery,  and  weak  with  the  agitation  his  mind  had  endured, 
almost  staggered  as  he  followed  Sam  to  the  door. 

"  Come  along,  man,  come  along ;  don't  stay  a  minute 
longer."  And  old  Mr.  Cutter  hobbled  out,  partly  leaning 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  97 

on  Mr.  Oakum,  and  partly  pulling  him  down  the  stairs,  and 
out  of  doors. 

To  describe  all  Mr.  Oakum's  feelings,  when  he  found 
himself  at  liberty,  and  learned  that  a  full  settlement  of  his 
account  had  been  made,  and  that  it  had  dwindled  down,  under 
the  scrutinizing  eye  of  Billy  Bloodgood,  to  the  sum  of  twenty 
dollars,  and  that  he  could  pay  this  amount  back  at  his  own 
convenience ;  or  to  describe  the  joy  which  danced  in  the 
heart  of  Sam,  when  he  saw  his  father  once  out  of  that  place, 
and  Uncle  Sam  Cutter  shaking  him  with  both  hands  ;  and 
Mr.  Bloodgood  nodding  his  head,  and  smiling,  and  running 
round, — it  would  be  vain  to  attempt. 

It  was  a  bright  spot  in  Sam's  life,  and  it  was  a  good  day 
for  more  hearts  than  one ;  for  it  was  the  means  of  winning 
into  the  little  circle  of  working  boys,  the  two  sons  of  old 
Mr.  Cutter:  they  became  diligent  from  that  day  forward, 
and  were  constant  in  aiding  their  father,  either  in  the  garden, 
the  shop,  or  the  field. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  establishment  of  Mr.  Cross,  up  in  the  barrens,  had 
not  much  to  boast  of,  as  to  its  architecture  or  location.  It 
consisted  of  a  long,  low  building,  formed  of  logs,  but  cov 
ered  with  boards,  and  the  roof  shingled.  Attached  to  it 
were  several  buildings,  constructed  entirely  of  logs,  but  well 
shingled  roofs  were  over  the  whole  of  them,  and  they  were 
otherwise  finished,  so  as  to  impress  the  beholder  with  the 
idea,  that  the  owner  was  in  very  different  circumstances  from 
those  who  occupied  such  buildings  for  many  miles  circuit. 
In  front  of  his  main  house  ran  a  piazza,  its  full  length  ;  while 
upon  a  tall  pine  tree,  nearly  opposite  the  centre  of  the  pre 
mises,  hung  a  rude  sign,  with  the  owner's  name,  D.  Cross,  in 
large  letters,  on  the  bottom.  The  inside  of  the  building 
presented  a  mongrel  appearance  of  store  and  tavern  ;  a  little 
of  both,  and  not  much  of  either.  There  was  a  counter,  and 
small  scales  upon  it ;  with  decanters,  and  a  few  dirty  tum 
blers  at  one  end.  Barrels  were  standing  in  different  parta 
5 


98  JAMES    MONTJOY  ;     OR, 


of  the  room.  There  were  one  or  two  plain  board  tables,  and 
a  few  benches,  besides  two  chairs  with  backs,  and  several 
without.  Three  large  casks  were  placed  together,  against 
one  side  of  the  wall,  and  the  faucets  in  them  clearly  told  for 
what  purpose  they  were  used.  Behind  the  counter  ran 
some  long  shelves,  upon  which  lay  jumbled  together  a  little 
iron  ware,  a  little  crockery,  and  a  very  limited  assortment  of 
dry  goods. 

The  location  was  not  an  unpleasant  one  for  those  who 
admire  the  seclusion  of  a  forest ;  for  lofty  pines  towered  on 
all  sides  of  it,  except  to  the  north,  where  a  clearing  having 
been  made,  probably  when  the  house  was  erected,  a  thick 
growth  of  scrub  pines  had  come  forward,  and  presented  the 
appearance  of  a  swamp. 

There  was,  however,  somewhat  of  a  clear  space  immedi 
ately  around  the  building,  formed  by  the  meeting  of  three 
or  four  roads,  running  off  into  different  directions ;  and 
pointing  out  this  spot  to  be,  as  it  really  was,  the  centre  of 
attraction  and  influence  to  all  that  region. 

The  owner  of  this  domain,  Mr.  David  Cross,  had  become, 
from  causes  which  have  been  explained  in  a  previous  chapter, 
a  person  of  some  consideration  ;  he  owned  quite  a  number  of 
acres  of  heavily  timbered  laud,  connectively  with  his  house  ; 
and  by  various  means  had  managed  to  bring  the  whole  pop 
ulation,  at  least  for  some  miles  circuit,  into  a  state  of  de 
pendence  upon  himself.  He  was  not  gifted  by  nature  with 
a  very  commanding  form,  being  rather  under  than  over  the 
medium  height.  This  deficiency,  however,  he  did  all  he 
could  to  remedy,  by  holding  himself  very  erect;  and  as  he 
was  a  little  inclined  to  be  fleshy,  it  sometimes  even  appeared 
that  he  leaned  backwards  in  his  efforts  to  make  the  most  of 
himself. 

The  only  member  of  Mr.  Cross's  family,  in  any  wise  re 
lated  to  him,  was  his  son  David  ;  a  young  man  of  some 
activity  in  the  way  of  business.  But  having  been  tutored 
entirely  by  his  father,  it  may  be  supposed  he  had  not  the  most 
correct  notions  in  matters  of  morality  ;  although,  as  yet,  no 
very  flagrant  charges  had  been  laid  up  against  him,  in  the 
minds  of  those  who  dealt  there ;  for  the  very  good  reason, 
that  the  elder  Mr.  Cross  chose  to  keep  things  in  his  own 
hand,  and  bear  all  responsibility.  As  to  the  mother  of  Da 
vid,  little  was  known  respecting  her, — it  was  supposed  she 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  99 

had  died  when  her  child  was  an  infant,  for  he  had  no  re 
membrance  of  her. 

David  was  not  unpopular  with  the  inhabitants  of  the 
barrens.  Being  of  a  lively  turn,  and  of  careless,  open  man 
ners  they  felt  a  freedom  in  his  presence,  which  was  quite  in 
contrast  with  the  servile  subjection  they  ever  had  to  realize 
when  dealing  with  his  father. 

As  the  tavern  of  Mr.  Cross  was  the  only  place  where  the 
laborers  he  employed  could  find  a  lodging  place,  during  the 
season  of  the  year  when  their  services  were  required,  the  dis 
tance  from  their  own  homes  being  often  too  great  to  allow  of 
return  until  the  close  of  the  week,  it  was  seldom  that  the 
place  was  without  sojourners,  and  too  many  of  them  had 
but  a  scanty  allowance  for  their  families,  after  their  six  days' 
toil. 

It  was  a  very  warm  day  among  the  pines  ;  no  breeze 
abroad,  and  the  air  from  the  heated  sand  almost  suffocating. 
Mr.  Cross  was  behind  his  counter,  busily  employed  in 
stirring  the  toddy  stick,  and  waiting  upon  those  who  were 
calling  for  their  favorite  mixture ;  some  were  leaning  over 
the  counter,  some  resting  on  the  benches,  and  not  a  few 
were  lying  at  full  length  upon  the  piazza,  and  in  the  shade 
of  the  pine,  scanty  as  it  was,  which  served  for  the  sign-post 
of  the  tavern,  when  the  rumbling  of  a  carriage  was  heard, 
and  the  unusual  sound  attracted  the  notice  of  all  present. 
Those  who  were  prostrate,  arose  at  once,  and  looked  forth 
through  the  different  openings  ;  and  those  who  were  in  the 
act  of  drinking,  suspended  operations,  and  held  their  glasses 
on  the  counter,  casting  glances  of  inquiry  at  Mr.  Cross  and 
at  each  other. 

':  It's  Dave,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Cross :  "  although  I 
didn't  think  he'd  be  along  this  hour  yet." 

"  That  aint  Dave,"  replied  one  of  the  men  ;  "  for  it  comes 
very  slow,  and  sounds  heavy  :  I  can  tell  Dave's  buggy  a  mile 
off,  by  its  rattle." 

Mr.  Cross,  apparently  satisfied  that  there  was  truth  in 
the  remark,  walked  slowly  from  behind  the  counter,  and  ap 
proaching  the  door,  those  who  were  standing  there  hastily 
made  way,  and  left  the  post  of  observation  to  him  alone ; 
they  collecting  in  groups  on  the  outside.  Convinced  that  it 
was  not  his  son's  carriage  that  was  approached,  the  little 
man  stood  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  person  straight- 


100  JAMES    MONT  JO  Y  j     OR, 

ened  up,  and  his  eye  intently  fixed  on  the  road  upon  which 
the  heavy  vehicle  was  rumbling,  and  glimpses  of  which  could 
be  seen  through  occasional  small  openings  in  the  pines. 

Soon  the  cleared  space  before  the  tavern  was  gained,  and 
every  eye  turned  instinctively  towards  Cross,  as  though  ask 
ing  an  explanation  from  his  countenance.  The  ruddy,  or 
rather  purple  hue  which  it  usually  bore,  immediately  assum 
ed  a  higher  color ;  his  hands  were  withdrawn  from  their 
resting-places,  his  head  uncovered,  and  bustling  through 
the  crowd  \vhieh  surrounded  his  door,  he  was  bowing,  and 
smiling,  and  doing  his  best  to  play  the  agreeable,  the  moment 
the  superb  vehicle  drew  up  before  his  sign-post. 

The  travellers  were  indeed  persons  of  no  small  consider 
ation,  if  an  opinion  could  be  formed  from  their  equipage. 
The  carriage  was  large  and  airy,  hanging  low  and  gracefully, 
upon  long  sweeping  springs ;  of  a  dark  olive  color,  which 
contrasted  finely  with  the  light  drab  linings  of  the  inside. 
The  horses  were  two  noble  blacks,  caparisoned  in  brass 
mounted  harness,  and  driven  by  a  negro  somewhat  advanced 
in  life,  and  perched  upon  a  heavy  luxurious  cushion.  He 
was  neatly  dressed,  in  the  fashion  of  days  that  were  passing 
away,  and  was  very  much  absorbed  in  the  management  of 
his  team,  which,  although  covered  with  lather  and  dust,  were 
evidently  full  of  mettle,  and  not  at  all  fagged  by  their  travel. 
Within  sat  a  gentleman  and  lady,  youthful  in  appearance, 
with  two  children  ;  the  eldest  not  over  six  years  of  age. 

Mr.  Cross  did  not  wait  for  the  footman  to  alight,  but 
advancing  to  the  door, 

"  Mr.  Rutherford,  your  servant,  sir,"  opened  it,  and  threw 
down  the  steps,  before  the  gentleman  had  time  to  inform 
him  that  he  was  not  intending  to  leave  the  carriage. 

"  Your  lady  will  surely  want  to  rest  a  little ;  our  accom 
modations,  indeed,  are  not  much  to  boast  of,  but  poor  as 
they  are,  we  shall  be  proud  to  have  you  use  them." 

The  lady  bowed  very  complacently  to  Mr.  Cross,  acknow 
ledging  that  she  felt  obliged  for  his  offer. 

'•  You  must  excuse  us  at  present,  Mr.  Cross ;  we  have 
some  miles  further  to  ride,  and  if  you  will  show  the  footman 
where  to  procure  a  little  water  for  our  horses,  I  will  be  much 
obliged  to  you." 

"  Certainly,  certainly;  here,  men,  water,  water;  don't  you 
hear  1  some  water  for  these  horses."  There  was  a  great  rush 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  101 

among  those  standing  near,  to  accomplish  the  request ;  but 
whether  to  obey  Mr.  Cross,  or  to  oblige  the  traveller,  may  be 
questioned  ;  for  they  had  heard  his  name,  and  therefore  knew 
that  a  greater  than  Mr.  Cross  was  present. 

But  as  there  were  reasons,  why  the  last-named  gentleman 
should,  if  possible,  have  an  interview  with  his  visitor,  he  felt 
that  an  effort  must  be  made  to  obtain  one. 

"  If  Mr.  Rutherford  could  favor  me  by  stepping  aside,  but 
for  a  moment,  it  will  not  detain" — 

"  It  would  be  scarcely  worth  while,  Mr.  Cross.  I  pre 
sume  I  know  what  you  wish  to  converse  about ;  and  I  am 
not  just  now  prepared  to  give  you  an  answer." 

'•  Ay — well,  sir — I  won't  presume  to  dictate,  sir ;  only 
you  know,  we  usually  make  our  contracts  about  this  time,  so 
that  we  may  make  some  calculations  for  hands,  &c." 

"  That's  true,  sir ;  but  to  be  plain,  Mr.  Cross,  I  am  not 
sure  that  I  shall  not  make  some  other  arrangement,  at  least, 
so  far  as  my  interest  goes  in  these  barrens.  I  do  not  feel 
satisfied  with  our  present  plan — we  pay  great  wages,  you 
must  be  aware." 

"  Stand  back,  men,  stand  back  ;  don't  you  know  civility 
enough  not  to  be  crowding  the  gentleman?"  Mr.  Cross  had 
his  own  reasons  for  not  wishing  too  many  listeners;  for  some 
ideas  might  possibly  be  conveyed  to  them,  not  consonant 
with  his  interest. 

"  Our  people  are  rough,  as  you  see,  madam,"  addressing 
the  lady,  "  and  you'll  pardon  their  ill  manners." 

"  No  pardon  at  all  necessary,  Mr.  Cross ;  these  good 
people  are  not  the  least  in  our  way."  This  the  lady  said  in 
a  voice  sufficiently  loud  to  be  heard  by  all  present ;  and 
then,  with  a  pleasant  smile  cast  upon  the  group,  she  asked, 

"  Will  one  of  you  be  kind  enough  to  bring  me  a  drink  of 
water  for  my  little  girl?" 

Not  ene,  but  several  glasses,  were  in  an  instant  almost, 
at  the  carriage  door.  The  lady  took  them  all ;  and  as  they 
were  returned  to  the  brawny  hands  held  out  to  receive  them, 
dropped  a  piece  of  silver  in  each. 

"  God  bless  you,  lady  !"  responded  at  once  each  of  the 
lucky  attendants,  and  a  smile  of  pleasure  lighted  up  all  the 
dark  countenances  of  the  half  savage-looking  beings,  who 
were  gazing  in  wonder  at  the  equipage  and  its  inmates. 

Mr.  Cross  was  compelled  to  be  a  silent  spectator  of  this 


102  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 


little  scene ;  but  the  dark  scowl  which  passed  across  his 
features  told  plainly  that  it  was  not  quite  agreeable  to  him. 

"  Am  I  in  the  direct  road  to  Widow  Brown's  ?"  inquired 
Mr.  Rutherford,  casting  a  glance  at  the  little  man,  and  then 
around  upon  those  present,  as  though  it  was  a  matter  of  no 
consequence  from  whom  he  received  the  answer.  It  came 
readily  from  many  of  the  bystanders  ;  the  voice  of  Mr.  Cross 
being  lost  in  their  louder  exclamations ;  even  if  he  answered 
at  all.  which  is  doubtful. 

"  Yes,  sir — yes,  sir ;  it's  about  six  miles  from  here  ;  but 
you  must  turn  to  the  right  hand,  when  you  get  to  the  edge 
of  the  great  swamp." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you  all ;  and  here  is  a  trifle  for  you, 
my  friend,"  singling  out  the  one  who  had  procured  the  water 
for  the  horses,  and  tossing  him  a  silver  dollar. 

"  God  bless  you,  sir — you're  a  gentleman." 

"  Good  day,  Mr.  Cross."  He  bowed  respectfully  to  the 
host,  and  to  all  the  admiring  group,  and  the  heavy  carriage 
rolled  on  its  way. 

Mr.  Cross  walked  back  into  his  stronghold  with  a  very 
dissatisfied  air,  while  the  men  gathered  outside  in  little  knots, 
discussing  the  strangeness  of  the  whole  scene,  and  wondering 
what  ailed  the  old  man,  "  he  seemed  so  out  of  sorts." 
Scarcely  had  the  carriage  disappeared,  when  a  rattling  was 
heard,  and  the  rapid  and  heavy  stamping  of  horses'  feet,  and 
David  Cross  tore  up  to  the  door,  among  the  groups  of  for 
esters,  scattering  them  to  either  side,  with  as  little  considera 
tion  as  though  they  had  been  so  many  sheep.  Curses  deep 
arose  in  their  hearts,  but  came  not  forth  at  their  lips. 

"  Here,  Jo,  you  put  Boney  in  the  stable,  and  rub  him 
down — won't  you  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  was  the  ready  answer.  But  the  man  ad 
dressed  shook  his  head  so  significantly,  and  jerked  the  horse 
so  rudely,  as  he  turned  him  round,  that  if  Mr.  David,  Junior, 
could  have  seen  it,  he  would  have  understood  that  his  exploit 
in  driving  was  not  much  relished  by  others,  if  very  agreeable 
to  himself. 

The  elder  Mr.  Cross  immediately  led  his  son  into  a  pri 
vate  room  adjoining  the  store,  and  with  much  anxiety  in  his 
countenance  waited  for  the  result  of  the  errand  upon  which 
he  had  been  sent. 

"  Foster  says,  he  has  closed  the  bargain  with  old  Ross ; 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  103 

he  is  to  give  you  a  quit-claim  deed  for  all  his  right  and  title 
to  the  property  in  the  barrens,  for  the  sum  you  named." 

"  That's  good — did  he  say  any  thing  further." 

"  He  said  something  about  my  telling  you  that  he  was  on 
the  lookout ;  that  he  would  hunt  like  a  cat  for  a  mouse ;  but 
the  old  fool  was  afraid  to  tell  me  what  he  meant." 

"  Michael  Foster  is  no  fool ;  but,  I  suppose,  he  thinks  it 
best  to  be  mum.  Yet  do  you  know  Rutherford  has  been 
here  ?" 

"  No  :  has  he  ?" 

"Yes;  and  he  refuses-to  make  any  contract  this  year; 
and  I  could  see,  by  his  management  with  the  men,  what  he's 
at :  but  he'll  miss  it  He'll  have  to  stoop  his  head  yet,  high 
as  he  holds  it  now." 

David  made  no  reply ;  but,  whistling  a  lively  tune, 
walked  away,  and  mingled  with  the  men,  who  were  again 
gathering  around  the  counter. 

The  travellers  experienced  no  difficulty  in  finding  their 
way,  and  soon  drew  up  before  the  humble  residence  of  the 
widow. 

"  It  looks  better,  my  dear  Mary,  than  I  expected,"  said 
Mr.  Rutherford,  as  he  alighted  from  the  carriage.  He  was 
about  to  enter  the  dwelling,  when  Mrs.  Brown  appeared  at 
the  door.  She  was  neatly  dressed,  for  one  living  in  so  poor 
a  place — that  is,  her  plain,  dark  calico  was  put  on  with  care, 
and  she  wore  shoes  and  stockings — articles  not  often  seen  in 
the  barrens.  She  wore  no  cap,  for  her  light-brown  hair  was  not 
at  all  changed  by  age,  and  her  countenance  was  as  fresh  and 
fair,  almost,  as  at  twenty-one.  She  seemed  surprised  for  an 
instant — 

"  Have  you  forgotten  me,  Aunt  Mary  ?" 

"  This  aint  Mr.  George  Rutherford  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  is — once  your  little  Georgie." 
"  Oh,  dear  !  how  glad   I  am  to  see  you ;"  and  the  tears 
started  to  her  eyes."      And  that  is  Mrs.   Rutherford ;  and 
these  are  your  dear  little  children.     How  they  do  look  just 
as  you  used  to." 

"  We  are  all  well  acquainted  with  you,  Mrs.  Brown  ;  for 
my  husband  is  continually  talking  about  you." 

'•  Oh,  dear !  I  never  thought  to  see  any  of  you  again ; 
for  I  did  not  suppose  you  would  ever  get  so  far  out  of  the 
world  as  to  come  here.  I  cannot  ask  you  to  go  into  my  poor 


104  JAMES  MONTJOY;    OR. 

house ;  but  there  are  some  seats  under  the  trees,  where  your 
lady  might  sit  down,  and" — 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Brown,  you  don't  think  that  your  Greorgie,  as 
you  used  to  call  him,  has  got  a  wife  who  would  not  go  into 
a  house  many  times  worse  than  yours,  to  see  one  he  thinks 
so  much  of;  so,  with  your  leave,  we  will  all  go  in,  for  we 
have  come  on  purpose  to  see  you." 

"  I  am  very  happy,  if  he  has  got  a  lady  who  knows  his 
worth." 

"  Take  care,  Mrs.  Brown,  what  you  say  ;  I  am  afraid  you 
did  a  little  towards  spoiling  him  when  a  boy  :  he  is  not  out 
of  danger  yet." 

The  family  now  passed  into  the  cottage,  while  the  widow 
and  old  Caesar  had  a  few  kind  salutations  to  make,  'ere  she 
followed  and  took  her  seat  among  them. 

Many  were  the  questions  asked  about  the  old  homestead, 
for  twelve  years  had  passed  by  since  she  was  last  there. 
Deaths,  births,  marriages,  changes  of  circumstances,  and  re 
lations,  how  they  had  accumulated  during  that  period  !  and 
how  often  the  tear  would  start,  and  the  lip  tremble,  as  the 
recital  went  on  !  Her  own  story  was  but  a  short  one  ;  for 
many  things  she  was  obliged  to  pass  over,  or  touch  lightly 
upon. 

"  But  where  is  the  little  girl  you  had  with  you,  when  last 
at  my  father's?  she  must  be  almost  grown  up  now." 

Oh,  no ;  she  is  but  a  little  girl  still ;  she  is  only  sixteen 
now  ;  but  she  is  very  obedient  and  kind-hearted." 

"  Just  like  her  mother." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  as  to  that,  ma'am ;  but  she  is  an 
obedient  child,  and  a  great  comfort  to  me — and  the  best  of 
all  is,  I  hope  she  is  a  Christian." 

"  That  is  good,"  exclaimed  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rutherford,  at 
the  same  time. 

"  Ah — then  you  both  love  good  things  yourselves,  don't 
you?" 

"  We  hope  we  do." 

"  The  Lord  be  praised  for  his  mercies.  It  seems  to  me 
always  a  great  thing  for  the  rich  to  be  pious — they  can  do  so 
much  good." 

"  Yes,  if  they  have  a  heart  to  do  good.  Is  your  daughter 
at  home,  Mrs.  Brown  ?" 

"  No,  ma'am ;  but  she  will  be  here  soon.     She  has  gone 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  105 


to  visit  a  neighbor  a  little  south  of  us.  among  the  farmers. 
We  have  but  a  poor  neighborhood  around  us;  and  you  know 
young  people  want  some  one  of  their  own  age  to  be  with  and 
talk  to." 

"  Why  is  it,  Mrs.  Brown,  that  the  people  in  the  barrens 
are  so  poor,  and  apparently  so  degraded  ? — they  get  work 
enough,  and  are  well  paid  for  it.  My  husband  is  very  anx 
ious  about  the  matter,  and  wishes  to  remedy  it.  if  he  can." 

"  Oh,  well,  ma'am ;  I  don't  know  that  I  have  got  the 
right  idea  of  things  ;  but  it  has  appeared  to  me  these  many 
years  that  there  must  be  wrong  management.  Our  men 
work  hard,  but  are  only  able  barely  to  live,  as  you  see ;  and 
for  so  many  people  to  be  all  poor  together,  is  a  great  evil." 

"  Do  you  think,  Mrs.  Brown,  that  they  get  their  pay  ?" 

"  I  think  they  do,  ma'am,  in  a  certain  way.  Mr.  Cross  settles 
with  them  every  month,  and  keeps  things  square ;  but  you 
know,  ma'am,  when  a  man  gets  so  much  power  into  his  hands 
as  Mr.  Cross  has,  he  may  be  tempted  to  do  wrong,  because 
no  one  can  bring  him  to  account  for  it.  The  men  are  obliged 
to  take  the  wages  he  sees  fit  to  allow  them,  as  there  is  no 
one  in  this  region  to  give  them  employment." 

"  And  charges  them  what  he  pleases  for  the  goods  they 
must  purchase  ?" 

"  It  is  pretty  much  so,  ma'am.  They  must  have  the 
necessaries  of  life  you  know,  ma'am  ;  and  although  they  pur 
chase  only  such  things  as  their  families  absolutely  need,  yet 
it  is  so  managed,  that  they  are  brought  a  little  in  debt  at 
each  settlement.  Some  think  that  he  charges  almost  double 
what  the  goods  cost  him  ;  but  situated  as  they  are,  no  one 
dares  complain,  and  so  they  go  on  from  year  to  year." 

"  This  is  slavery  I  think,  Mary,  with  a  vengeance,"  said 
Mr.  Rutherford,  looking  at  his  wife. 

"  It  is  just  as  we  expected,  my  dear." 

"  Well,  I  hope,  Mr.  Rutherford,  that  I  have  not  done  in 
justice  to  Mr.  Cross.  He  has  been  good  to  me  and  mine. 
Perhaps,  after  all,  the  people  think  hard  of  him  without  suf 
ficient  cause." 

"  You  have  only  confirmed  my  suspicions  of  the  state  of 
things  here.  You  know  that  I  own  a  large  part  of  these 
barrens ;  and,  therefore,  it  is  my  duty  to  look  into  matters, 
and  not  suffer  evils  to  exist,  if  I  can  remedy  them." 

Mr.  Rutherford  then  proceeded  to  touch  upon  matters 
5* 


106  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

more  immediately  relating  to  the  widow's  personal  interests, 
aud  which,  in  fact,  had  been  one  of  the  objects  of  his  visit. 
It  was  in  reference  to  her  removal  from  this  region,  so  desti 
tute  of  privileges,  to  her  former  home,  beneath  his  own  roof, 
where  her  children  could  be  usefully  employed,  and  herself 
made  comfortable. 

It  was  some  time  before  she  could  make  any  reply  to  this 
generous  offer. 

"  You  must  not  hesitate,  Mrs.  Brown,  to  accept  this 
offer ;  for  I  assure  you,  that  I  heartily  join  with  my  husband 
in  it." 

"  Oh,  I  thank  you,  ma'am  ;  I  believe  you  are  sincere,  and 
are  acting  from  the  kindest  motives,  and  perhaps  you  will 
think  it  strange  that  I  should  hesitate  a  moment  about  ac 
cepting  it." 

Just  then,  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  en 
trance  of  Hettie.  Her  appearance  surprised  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Rutherford  ; — the  fine  glow  on  her  cheek,  the  raven  blackness 
of  her  hair  and  eyes,  the  pleasant  smile  that  immediately  light 
ed  up  her  countenance,  the  simple  curtsey  that  she  dropped,  all 
so  pretty  and  so  natural — they  had  not  expected  to  meet  so 
lovely  a  flower  in  such  a  waste  ;  and  the  widow  must  not 
be  blamed,  if  she  indulged  some  little  pride,  as  she  presented 
her  to  their  friends.  Hettie  was  her  bright  star ;  hope  al 
ways  rose  when  she  appeared.  An  increasing  interest  was 
excited  in  the  minds  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  R.,  and  the  subject  of 
her  removal  again  introduced. 

'•  You  cannot  tell."  replied  the  widow,  "  how  much  I  feel 
the  kindness  of  your  offer ;  and  were  only  the  interest  of 
myself  and  Hettie  to  be  consulted,  I  should  not  long  hesi 
tate.  But  oh  !  Mrs.  Rutherford,  you  cannot  yet  tell  how  a 
mother  feels  towards  a  wayward  son.  William  is  not  just 
what  I  could  wish  he  was,  but  he  still  clings  to  me.  I 
know  he  will  not  be  willing  to  leave  these  parts,  unpro 
mising  as  they  are :  for  me  to  separate  from  him,  and  allow 
him  to  go  without  restraint,  in  the  midst  of  so  many  tempta 
tions,  would  be  like  giving  him  up  to  ruin  ;  and  I  cannot 
but  hope  he  will  one  day  be  different  from  what  he  now  is; 
the  Lord,  you  know,  has  many  ways  to  bring  back  the  wan 
derer." 

Her  friends  could  urge  no  further  the  whole  of  their  re 
quest,  but  ventured  to  say — 


I  VE    BEEN    THINKING. 


"  Will  you  not,  Mrs.  Brown,  let  us  have  Hettie  ?  We 
will  do  for  her  as  well  as  we  can." 

This  proposal  was  one  that  she  felt  it  her  duty  to  accept, 
however  trying  to  be  separated  from  one  she  loved  so 
dearly. 

After  a  short  consultation  with  her  daughter,  it  was  de 
cided  that  she  should  accompany  them.  Wishing  to  give 
them  an  opportunity  to  make  some  little  preparation,  Mr. 
Rutherford  concluded  to  drive  into  the  open  country,  which 
lay  a  little  to  the  south  of  the  widow's  cottage — the  scene 
where  our  story  commenced. 

It  was  with  an  united  exclamation  that  they  first  met 
the  view  which  opened  to  them,  as  they  emerged  from  the 
pines. 

«  Ah,  how  beautiful !" 

It  was,  indeed,  a  striking  contrast  to  the  region  through 
which  they  had  been  travelling. 

The  country  was  little  varied  by  hill  and  dale,  and  in  no 
wise  improved  by  the  hand  of  man :  for  the  houses  which 
could  be  seen  were  but  unsightly  buildings,  and  all  the  en 
closures  of  the  rudest  kind ;  yet  commonplace  as  was  the 
face  of  the  land,  in  connection  with  the  extensive  water  view, 
there  was  much  to  justify  the  exclamation — it  was  a  pano 
rama  delightful  to  those  who  had  been  so  long  riding  amid 
towering  pines. 

On  either  side  of  the  strip  of  country  which  lay  imme 
diately  before  them,  and  around  the  whole  view  in  front,  was 
water :  first,  a  pretty  river  stealing  down  on  the  right,  and 
then  another  on  the  left,  each  hastening  to  mingle  their 
waters  in  the  beautiful  bay,  ere  they  rolled  to  the  ocean  ;  in 
the  distance,  a  long  line  of  land  stretching  towards  the  east, 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  encircling  an  immense  bay,  and 
losing  itself  where  sky,  and  earth,  and  water  are  mingled  in 
one ;  while,  beautifully  breaking  the  monotony  of  such  an 
area  of  water,  a  strip  of  land  ran  out  into  the  bay,  over  whose 
crest  could  be  seen,  in  the  distance,  the  white  sail  winging 
its  way  to  the  broad  ocean. 

Even  old  Cassar  felt  the  animating  influence  of  the 
scenery  ;  and  urging  on  his  horses  by  a  cheering  word, 
the  carriage  rolled  along  as  fast  as  was  becoming  such  a 
stately  concern. 

"  Whoa-a,  whoa-up — whoa  there." 


108  JAMES  MONTJOY;    OR, 

"  Oh,  Caesar  !  what's  the  matter  ?' 

There  was,  at  the  same  time,  a  fearful  leaning  to  one 
side. 

"  Nuttin',  missus;  only  de  wheel  cum  off." 

It  was,  to  be  sure,  nothing  else ;  but  that,  of  itself,  was 
sufficient  to  prevent  any  farther  progress,  for  the  time  being. 
Caesar  and  his  master  were  soon  down :  the  horses  detached 
from  the  carriage,  and  the  wheel  picked  up,  and  brought  to 
its  place. 

<"Tis  all  right,  Massa  Greorge,  only  de  linch-pin  is  gone; 
may  be  me  find  um." 

And  very  diligent  was  the  search  for  the  lost  pin,  but  to 
no  purpose  ;  the  prospect,  indeed,  was  not  the  most  agree 
able  ;  for  a  long  road  must  be  retraced  ere  home  could  be 
reached. 

A  young  man,  from  an  adjoining  field,  seeing  their  di 
lemma,  hastened  to  offer  his  aid.  Very  soon  rails  were  pro 
cured,  and  by  means  of  them,  the  heavy  coach  was  raised,  and 
the  recusant  little  wheel  replaced ;  and  then  the  young 
man  who  showed  much  readiness  to  assist,  as  well  as  inge 
nuity,  procuring  a  bit  of  hard  wood,  began  whittling  it  into 
the  shape  of  a  pin. 

"  Mister,  what  a'  yo  goin'  to  do  wid  dat  'tick  ?" 

"  I'm  making  a  pin  for  you,  daddy." 

"  My  golly !  you  no  t'ink  dat  hold  dem  big  wheel  on. 
No  blacksmith  nowhere  here?" 

"Yes;  there  is  one  not  far  off;  but  you  want  some 
thing  to  keep  your  wheel  on,  until  you  can  get  the  carriage 
there." 

"  Why  me  no  bring  him  here  when  he  makes  de  pin  ?" 

"  Why,  you  see,  daddy,  he  will  want  the  measure  of  the 
hole  to  make  it  by ;  and  the  old  man  does  not  like  to  walk 
very  much,  as  he  is  fat  and  clumsy.  It  will  be  as  much  as 
we  can  do  to  get  him  to  make  the  pin  at  all ;  he  don't  like 
to  work  such  hot  weather." 

"  Ay,  ay.     Well,  den  ;  you  right,  bubby." 

With  that  Caesar  prepared  to  attach  the  horses  to  the 
carriage,  while  the  family  walked  on  towards  the  little,  low 
building,  with  a  high  chimney,  which  was  pointed  out  to 
them. 

As  the  carriage  drove  up,  a  very  fleshy  person  was  seen 
waddling  towards  the  door,  and  putting  one  arm  out  on  each 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  109 

side,  supported  himself  in  the  doorway.  He  looked  at  the 
coach,  and  the  horses,  and  the  driver,  alternately,  in  great 
astonishment.  He  saw  the  old  black  smile,  but  took  no 
notice  of  it ;  and  fixed  his  eye  at  length  on  the  long  sweep- 
ing  braces,  as  though  wondering  where  such  powerful  springs 
were  made. 

"  Massa  Cutter  forget  me."  The  old  man  cast  his  eye 
up. 

"  Massa  Cutter  no  'member  Caesar  ?" 

"  Caesar — Caesar — what,  not  Caesar  Rutherford  ?  No — 
yes — so  it  is — why,  you  old  rascal,  how  do  you  do  ?  Give  us 
your  fist.  I  thought,  when  you  showed  your  teeth  at  me, 
that  I'd  seen  you  before.  But  you  grow  old,  man — your 
head  is  all  getting  white." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha ;  Massa  Cutter  growin'  old,  too,  and  big ! 
My  golly,  what  a  sight !  Good  livin'  I  'tink  here,  Massa 
Cutter." 

"  Good  living — there's  no  living  at  all — it's  too  hot  to 
live ;  nothing  but  salamanders  could  stand  it.  But  what's 
brought  you  here  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  see,  Massa  Cutter,  me  lose  de  linch-pin ;  so 
dis  young  gemtnan  tell  me  de  blacksmith  close  by ;  but  I  no 
'spect  to  see  Massa  Cutter — ha,  ha,  ha !" 

"  And  you  want  me  to  make  a  new  one,  do  you  ?" 

"  If  you  please." 

"  Here,  Bill  Andrews,  since  you  have  been  so  helpful  to 
these  folks,  and  helped  them  here,  you  may  just  come  and 
help  me  ;  so  take  hold  of  them  'tarnal  old  bellows,  and  blow 
for  your  life." 

<;  That  I  will,  Uncle  Sam." 

The  old  man,  although  reluctant  to  move  about  much, 
made  expeditious  work  with  his  hammer ;  the  pin  was  soon 
made  and  fitted  to  its  place,  and  the  carriage  ready  for  an 
other  start.  Before  this,  however,  Mr.  Rutherford  had 
reached  the  shop,  having  left  Mrs.  R.  and  the  children  to 
enjoy  a  fine  shade  at  a  little  distance.  As  Mr.  Cutter  had 
been  acquainted  with  his  father,  it  afforded  the  former  an 
opportunity  of  making  many  inquiries  about  events  long  trans 
pired,  some  of  which,  being  connected  with  Mr.  Cutter's 
removal  to  his  present  house,  occasioned,  on  his  part,  very 
long  and  heavy  sighs,  and  serious  shakes  of  the  head.  At 
length  he  could  hold  in  no  longer. 


110  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

"  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear !  it  makes  me  feel  bad  all  over,  to 
hear  you  talk  about  them  places  and  things ; — to  think  what 
an  old  fool  I've  been  to  come  to  such  a  place  as  this." 

"  It  does  not  look  like  a  very  thriving  place,  Mr.  Cutter." 

"  Thriving !  there's  nothing  thrives  here  but  rum  and 
deviltry.  Thriving  ! — I  tell  you  what,  the  old  'un  thrives 
here,  no  one  else ;  and  a  great  haul  he'll  have — he's  fixing 
for  it.  No  schools,  no  meetin'-houses,  and  no  nothing  that's 
good ; — the  men  most  all  drunk  and  lazy,  and  the  boys  go 
ing  to  the  d — 1,  if  I  must  say  so,  asking  your  pardon,  as  fast 
as  they  can." 

"  This  is  a  poor  account  of  your  place,  Mr.  Cutter. 
What  do  you  suppose  has  caused  such  a  state  of  things  ?" 

"  It  is  beyond  me  to  say,  sir ;  there  seems  to  be  a  kind 
of  curse  on  the  place  ;  and  it  is  my  candid  opinion,  if  some 
thing  aint  done  here  soon, — some  preaching,  or  something 
else  of  that  sort, — we're  a  gone  case ;— even  a  dumb  Quaker 
would  be  better  than  nothing.  He  might  walk  round  in  his 
square  coat,  and  frighten  the  old  'un  a  little." 

Mr.  Rutherford  could  not  restrain  a  smile  at  the  earnest 
ness  of  the  old  man,  and  the  singularity  of  his  idea. 

"  From  your  description,  Mr.  Cutter,  you  are  not  much 
better  off  here  than  our  people  in  the  barrens." 

"  Not  much  to  boast  on,  I  tell  you,  sir.  Only  they  can't 
raise  nothing,  and  must  depend  upon  old  Cross  for  work  to 
buy  their  bread  with,  and  he  charges  them  just  what  he 
pleases ;  and  if  they  should  grumble,  or  ask  for  their  money 
to  spend  elsewhere,  he  would  turn  them  off  entirely,  and 
then  they  might  live  on  huckleberries  and  pine  knots." 

"  They  are  badly  off,  I  believe,  sir ;  but  I  hope  to  be  able 
to  make  some  change  in  things  there.  The  people  are,  no 
doubt,  imposed  upon,  and  I  shall  not  allow  it  to  be  so,  if  I 
can  help  it." 

"  Bless  your  young  heart  for  saying  so ;  but  you  must 
look  out  for  Cross  ;  he's  a  precious  villain — I  tell  you." 

';  I  believe  he  is  no  better  than  he  should  be  ;  but  I  shall 
try  to  manage  it,  so  as  not  to  injure  the  poor  folks,  at  any 
rate." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  on  it,  for  there  are  some  clever  people 
among  them.  There's  the  widow  Brown  ;  why  you  must 
know  her?  she  used  to  live  in  your  father's  family." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know  her  well,  Mr.  Cutter ;  and  part  of  my 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  Ill 

errand  down  was  to  see  her.  Her  daughter,  I  hope,  will  go 
home  with  me  to  live." 

"  What !  Hettie  !  Hettie  aint  going  away  ? — and  yet  she 
ought  to  go  out  of  such  a  hole  as  this.  She  is  too  pretty  and 
too  good  to  be  round  here.  What's  the  matter,  Bill  ? 
Where's  the  use  of  keeping  the  old  bellows  creaking,  when 
there's  no  iron  in  the  fire?" 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  think.     You  are  done,  aint  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  hope  so.  I've  pounded  myself  all  in  a  heat. 
But  what  makes  you  look  so  pale,  man  ?" 

"  Oh,  nothing  ;  I  aint  pale,  am  I  ?" 

"  Yes,  you  are  pale — go  sit  down,  man." 

"  No ;  I  thank  you,  Uncle  Sam.  I  believe  I  will  go 
home  now,  if  I  can  be  of  no  more  use  to  the  gentleman." 

Mr.  Rutherford,  seeing  him  about  to  depart,  stepped  up, 
and  very  politely  thanked  him  for  his  kind  and  efficient  ser 
vices  ;  and  taking  out  his  purse,  was  about  to  remunerate 
him  handsomely  for  his  trouble. 

"  Oh,  no,  sir,  nothing ;  I  thank  you." 

"  But  it  has  taken  your  time,  and  you  have  been  of  great 
service  to  me ;  allow  me  to  make  you  some  compensation — 
thanks  from  a  stranger  are  not  worth  much." 

"  They  are  worth  a  good  deal  to  me,  sir,  since  I  have 
found  out  who  you  are." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  know  of  me  ?" 

"  My  father  removed  from  your  place,  sir ;  and  I  have 
often  heard  him  speak  of  your  folks,  how  kind  they  were 
to  him;  perhaps  you  may  remember  him,  Zechariah  An 
drews?" 

"  Remember  him  ?  certainly  I  do ;  and  are  you  his  son  ? 
Well,  this  is  strange  indeed  :"  at  the  same  time  taking  Bill's 
hand,  and  giving  it  a  hearty  shake.  Many  inquiries  were 
made  and  answered ;  and  the  interview  closed  by  an  invita 
tion  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Rutherford,  that  whenever  he  might 
need  a  friend,  he  would  call  upon  him. 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Cutter,  good  by,"  giving  the  old  man 
his  hand  ;  "  I  hope  you  may  live  to  see  things  look  brighter 
than  they  now  do." 

"  I  hope  so,  sir  ;  but  I  tell  you  there  is  but  little  chance 
of  it.  The  old  fellow  has  danced  here  so  long,  it  will  be  hard 
getting  him  off  the  ground — preachin'  might  do  it.  But  I 
want  to  say  one  thing  to  you — look  out  for  Cross  ;  he  aint 


112  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

too  good  in  my  opinion  for  any  thing — he's  a  dangerous  man, 
depend  on  'it.  But  I  won't  keep  you  waiting.  God  bless 
you,  and  keep  you  out  of  harm's  way." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

I  SUPPOSE  my  readers  are  about  tired  with  following  our 
heroes  on  their  little  voyages  ;  but  as  this  is  to  be  the  last 
they  will  make  in  the  old  skiff,  and  as  it  is  connected  with 
some  interesting  circumstances  regarding  our  friend  Sam, 
we  must  go  with  them  once  again. 

It  was  but  a  short  period  after  the  scene  of  trial  through 
which  Sam  and  his  family  were  called  to  pass.  A  pleasant  sail 
they  had  made  to  the  fort,  that  morning  ;  their  stock  of  goods 
had  been  disposed  of,  their  empty  baskets  stowed  away,  and 
they  were  just  on  the  point  of  casting  off  for  their  return, 
when  Peter  appeared,  coming  through  the  gate  of  the  castle. 
As  soon  as  he  passed  the  sentinel,  he  hobbled  along  towards 
them  as  fast  as  crutches  would  let  him. 

"  Hulloa  ;  'vast,  there,  my  hearties." 

The  boys  readily  stopped,  and  waited  his  approach. 

"  Here,  you  Sam,  jist  come  here,  follow  me." 

Sam  was  utterly  at  a  loss  as  to  what  was  to  pay  now ; 
but  as  Peter  turned  short  about,  and  was  making  his  way 
back  again,  as  though  he  expected  of  course  his  summons  to 
be  obeyed,  Sam  had  no  alternative  but  to  jump  ashore  and 
hasten  after  him,  and  he  had  much  ado  to  get  up  with  the 
old  man  before  he  entered  the  gate.  Peter  hobbled  along 
through  the  hall  at  the  entrance,  then  turned  to  the  right, 
and.  by  a  narrow  door,  entered  a  dark  passage,  saying  no 
thing  all  the  while,  only  turning  his  head  back  occasionally, 
to  see  that  Sam  was  following ;  then  up  a  broad  stairs,  into 
a  long  gallery  studded  with  doors.  Into  one  of  these  Peter 
entered,  and,  waiting  until  Sam  passed  in,  shut  it. 

"  Now,  my  hearty,  see  what  I've  got  for  you.  Take  off 
them  old  duds  o'  your'n,  jist  as  fast  as  you  can."  Sam,  being 
somewhat  in  amaze,  was  looking  at  the  queer  little  room, 
with  the  hammock  hung  up  at  one  side  of  it,  wondering  how 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  113 

Peter  ever  contrived  to  stow  himself  away  in  it ;  in  the  mean 
time  Peter  was  busy  untying  a  large  bundle,  and  taking 
out  sundry  articles. 

"  Here,  you  sonny,  jist  put  these  on,  and  see  how  they'll 
fit ;"  holding  up  at  the  same  time  a  pair  of  blue  broadcloth 
pantaloons.  "  But  what  are  you  about  ?  why  don't  you  doff 
your  jacket  and  trowsers  ?  You  aint  a  going  to  put  these  on 
over,  are  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  sir :  but  you  don't  mean  to  have  me  put  on  such 
fine  things  as  these  ?" 

"And  why  not?  didn't  my  lady  git  'em  'spressly  for  you? 
and  didn't  she  take  me  along  with  her,  purpose  to  pick  out  a 
true  sailor's  rig  ?  So  off  with  the  old  riggin',  it's  stood  long 
enough. ' 

"  Did  she  get  them  ?  Oh,  she  is  very  good.  I  am  sure  I 
don't  deserve" — 

"  Don't  deserve  !  Yes,  you  do  deserve  ;  so  down  with  your 
dumbfounded  perverseness,  for  once,  and  do  as  you  are 
bid." 

Sam  was  indeed  confounded,  but  he  could  not  do  other 
wise  than  put  them  on.  A  better  fit  could  not  have  been, 
and  the  suit  was  complete  throughout.  Blue  roundabout, 
and  trowsers  to  match,  of  good  broadcloth,  finer  than  any 
thing  Sam  had  ever  felt  of  before.  Suspenders  of  blue  and 
white,  all  finely  figured ;  blue  check  shirt,  witn  a  large 
flowing  collar,  around  the  edge  of  which  and  down  the  bo 
som,  ran  an  ornament  of  white.  Vest  there  was  none,  as 
Peter  said  "  it  was  of  no  mortal  use." 

Never  was  a  father  prouder  of  a  son,  than  was  Peter, 
when  the  whole  rig  was  on.  He  turned  Sam  round  to  all 
points  of  the  compass  ;  examined  him,  as  he  said,  "  'fore 
and  aft."  The  shoes  were  the  only  articles  Peter  did  not 
fancy. 

"  Pumps  is  the  only  things  fit  to  go  on  a  sailor's  foot,  but 
my  lady  reasoned  me  out  of  it.  They're  good  taut  under 
strappers,  no  doubt,  and  they'll  do  you  a  deal  of  service  ;  but 
they  spoil  the  looks,  and  there  aint  no  shuffle  in  'em.  But 
howsomever,  perhaps  as  you;re  along  shore  now,  they'll  do 
you  a  good  turn.  But  do  you  hear  ?  never  put  your  foot 
on  a  ship's  deck  in  such  dumpers  as  them." 

"Oh  dear  !  how  good  they  are  to  me." 

"  Good  ?  to  be  sure  they're  good.     But  mind,  my  hearty, 


114  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 


ihcrds  One  above"  and  Peter  pointed  his  finger  upward,  as 
he  said  this,  "  who  has  made  the  wind  shift  round  for  you, 
so  fair  and  square  ;  mind  that,  and  don't  think  it's  all  luck 
that's  made  such  big  folks  kind  to  you.  You're  but  a 
youngster  now,  and  can't  be  'spected  to  understand  how  all 
these  things  are  brought  about ;  but  an  old  sailor  like  me, 
that  has  sailed  in  all  weathers,  has  seen  things  that  will 
make  a  man  feel  that  there  is  One  at  the  helm  can  steer  for 
him  when  he  can't  do  nothing  for  himself." 

Sam  looked  at  the  old  man  with  fixed  attention,  and 
drank  in  every  word,  his  eyes  sparkling  with  the  deep  emo 
tion  they  aroused  within  him.  He  thought  Peter  no  longer 
a  poor  maimed  sailor,  but  some  being  from  a  better  world, 
who  had  put  on  for  a  time  a  rough  and  forbidding  garb. 

"  And  now,  my  hearty,  see  here."  And  Peter  began  to 
pull  out  sundry  other  articles  of  dress. 

"  That  there  rig  you've  got  on  aint  for  storms,  nor  every 
day  sarvice ;  a  man  wants  something  tight  and  tidy  for  Sun 
days,  and  sich  like — but  here's  your  real  stuff  to  brave  all 
weathers  in.  This  will  stand  you  for  rough  and  tumble  and 
all  sorts  of  work.  These  trowsers  is  the  regular  duck  ;  jist 
feel  'em.  Sammy.  They're  stiff  like,  I  know,  but  you'll  soon 
make  'em  limber  ;  and  this  here  jacket  is  the  jinivine  blue 
nanking ;  there's  no  tear  about  it,  that  I'll  warrant  you." 

Sam  had  given  up  in  amazement  at  the  multitude  of 
good  things  showered  upon  him.  He  knew  not  whether  to 
laugh  or  cry — he  did  a  little  of  both — it  was  so  good,  so  far 
above  any  thing  he  had  been  thinking  of;  the  feeling  which 
came  over  him,  and  which  we  all,  in  our  youthful  days, 
have  experienced  when  clad  in  a  new  suit,  was  so  very  new 
to  him,  that  he  was  oppressed  by  it ;  and  as  Peter  held  up 
the  duck  trowsers  and  the  blue  nankeen  coat,  he  proceeded 
to  unrobe  himself,  thinking  he  was  required  to  try  them  on 
too. 

"Now,  what  is  the  lad  about? — Hands  off;  let  alone. 
Aint  you  going  right  down  to  show  my  lady  what  a  spanking 
fit  it  is  1  So  we'll  jist  bundle  these  up  with  the  old  duds, 
and  you'll  take  'em  along — you  hear  ?  and  let  'em  lay  in  the 
boat  till  you  git  home." 

Sam  would  have  made  some  objections,  if  he  dared  ;  but 
Peter  took  things  in  his  own  hands,  and  seemed  to  feel  that, 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  115 

for  once,  at  least,  he  must  be  minded :  so  rolling  the  whole 
together,  and  tying  them  in  a  very  knowing  manner, 

l-  Now  come  along,  my  hearty  ;"  he  stumped  it  out  of  the 
room  and  through  the  gallery,  and  down  the  stairs,  and  lay 
ing  the  bundle  in  the  hall,  crossed  to  the  apartment  where 
Sam  had  formerly  been  introduced  to  the  presence  of  Mrs. 
Morris  ;  and  before  he  had  time  to  reflect  or  make  opposition, 
Peter  was  knocking  at  the  door. 

A  very  pleasant  smile,  and  exclamation  of  delight  on  the 
part  of  Mrs.  Morris,  greeted  Sam  as  he  entered. 

"  Why,  Peter  ! — who  would  have  thought  they  could  have 
fitted  so  well ;  and  how  very  apropos  they  look.  A  sailor 
boy,  he  is  now — is  he  not,  Peter  ?" 

"  All  but  the  shoes,  please  you,  madam."  And  Peter, 
not  having  his  hat  on,  touched  his  queue. 

"  Oh,  well ;  I  think  master  Sam  will  be  much  pleased  with 
the  shoes,  especially  as  he  is  on  shore  now.  But  let  him 
come  here — hand  me  the  neckerchief,  Susie." 

Susie  walked  to  the  table  and  brought  the  little  parcel, 
and  placed  it  in  her  mother's  hand. 

"  Here  is  a  present  from  Susie ;  she  has  hemmed  it  her 
self,  and  I  suppose  ought  to  honor  you  by  tying  it  on,  as 
ladies  of  old  used  to  fasten  their  favors  on  their  champions ; 
but  as  she  is  a  little  bashful  about  it,  I  must  do  it  for  her." 

Sam  was  too  much  confounded  to  make  any  opposition ; 
but  his  flushed  countenance  told  how  he  felt. 

"  I  suppose  I  cannot  put  it  on  after  true  sailor  fashion, 
but  I  believe  it  must  have  a  single  tie,  and  hang  loose,  in 
this  style.  Will  that  do,  Peter  ?" 

"  That's  the  thing,  madam." 

"  What  shall  I  ever  do  for  you,  ma'am,  you  are  so  good  to 
me?" 

"  Oh.  perhaps  you  will  do  a  great  deal  for  us  yet,  and  you 
know,  my  dear  boy,  that  we  are  under  obligations  to  you  we 
cannot  soon  get  rid  of" 

'•  I  am  sure,  ma'am,"  and  Sam  looked  intently  at  Mrs. 
Morris,  his  whole  countenance  beaming  with  honest  emotion, 
"  I  don't  know  what  I  have  done  that  you  should  say  so.  If 
you  mean  my  trying  to  save  Miss  Susan,  why  I  am  sure, 
ma'am,  if  I  had  not  done  it,  I  wouldn't  be  fit  to  live.  I 
would  do  it  again,  if  I  knew  I  should  die  for  it ;  I  am  sure 
I  would,  and  so  would  any  one." 


116  JAMES   MONTJOY  j     OR, 

Mrs.  Morris  could  not  repress  the  starting  tear,  nor  could 
she  make  an  immediate  reply.  Sam's  whole  demeanor  took 
her  by  surprise — she  did  not  expect  such  a  burst  of  genuine 
gallantry. 

"God  bless  you,  my  good  fellow  !  you  have  a  noble  heart, 
and  will  make  a  proud  station  for  yourself,  yet ;  but  keep  in 
mind,  that  the  path  to  lionor  lies  through  difficulties  and  dan 
gers." 

As  she  said  this,  her  hand  was  smoothing  down  the  dark 
curls  which  lay,  in  all  their  natural  carelessness,  arouud 
Sam's  fine  forehead. 

"  But,  Peter,  only  to  think  !  we  have  forgotten  the  hat, — 
what  a  pity  !" 

Peter  made  no  reply,  otherwise  than  by  handling  his 
queue,  and  rolling  his  quid  from  one  side  of  his  mouth  to  the 
other. 

"  How  could  you  let  me  forget  it,  Peter  ?" 

"  Oh,  ma'am,  don't  think  of  it ;  you  have  given  me  too 
many  things  already." 

"  Please,  my  lady,  he'll  do  well  enough,  for  all  that.  If 
my  lady  has  no  further  orders,  I  must  go." 

"  Nothing  further,  Peter." 

Sam  made  the  best  bow  he  could,  both  to  Mrs.  Morris 
and  to  Susie ;  and  Susie  ventured,  for  the  first  time,  as  Sam 
made  his  obeisance  to  her,  to  say,  very  gently  indeed, "  Good 
by."  It  was  not  much  beyond  a  whisper,  but  Sam  heard  it, 
and  how  to  account  for  it  he  did  not  know,  but  it  sent  a  thrill 
all  over  him ;  he  could  not  get  rid  of  it  all  that  day,  nor 
many  days  after.  Whenever  the  scene  in  that  room  came  up 
before  him — and  it  kept  presenting  itself  very  often — he 
loved  to  dwell  on  that  part  of  it.  Susie  would  be  before  him 
with  her  pretty  smile,  and  those  words,  so  soft,  "  goodby." 
would  ring  and  ring  in  his  ears. 

To  say  that  Jim  was  astonished  at  the  change  in  Sam's 
appearance,  as  he  came  from  the  fort  and  took  his  station  in 
the  boat,  would  describe  but  a  very  little  of  what  Jim  really 
did  feel.  He  was  amazed — he  was  pleased — no,  he  was  de 
lighted.  He  loved  Sam  like  a  brother ;  and  when  he  heard 
from  Sam's  own  lips  what  had  been  done  for  him, 

"  They  are  the  best  people,  Sam,  I  ever  knew.  But  what 
will  they  all  say  at  home  ?  I  wonder  what  Ned  will  do  ? 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  117 

You  must  take  care,  or  ho  will  pull  you  down  in  the  dirt. 
Clothes  do  make  some  difference,  don't  they  ?" 

"  Stop,  my  hearties." 

The  boys  looked  back. 

"  Just  come  ashore  here,"  beckoning  to  Sam.  "  You  see 
my  lady  forgot  about  the  hat,  but  thinks  I,  there's  a  chance 
for  me,  now  ;  so  I  steps  in  slyly,  and  rummaging  the  old 
•wallet,  found  enough  stowage  there  to  get  this  little  shiner : 
so  try  it  on,  sonny,  try  it  on." 

"  But  you  shouldn't  do  so  :  I  am" — 

"  No  you  aint ;  so  try  it  on."  And  suiting  the  action  to 
the  word,  he  displaced  Sam's  little  old  tarred  hat,  and 
mounted  a  new  one,  all  glistening  with  its  bright  polish. 

"  That's  the  rig,  now;  it  don't  lift  quite  so  ship  shape  as 
it  ought,  but  it  will  work  to  the  head,  and  it  will  keep  the 
rain  out,  I'll  warrant  that.  But  I  can't  stop  here,  for  the 
Major's  boots  must  be  cleaned ;  so  a  good  passage  to  you, 
my  hearties." 

With  that,  he  bore  away  for  the  fort  in  quick  time,  paying 
no  kind  of  heed  to  all  Sam  said  about  thanks. 

"  I  tell  you,  Sam  Oakum,  I  should  not  know  you  if  I  met 
you  in  the  road.  Nobody  will  know  you  ;  Ned  won't  know 
you,  see  if  he  does." 

"I  don't  hardly  know  myself,  Jim,  I  feel  so  queer." 

The  wonder  which  Sam's  appearance  excited  on  their  re 
turn,  was  full  as  great  as  Jim  had  anticipated.  On  reaching 
the  shore,  Ned  and  Jowler  stood  ready  to  receive  them.  Ned 
stepped  up  to  Jim,  who  had  jumped  ashore,  and  was  carrying 
the  little  stone  anchor  out  as  far  as  the  rope  would  reach, 
and  whispered, 

"  Who's  that  1  Where's  Sam  ?"  Then  Sam  walked  de 
liberately  from  the  stern,  and  jumped  ashore.  Jowler  set 
up  a  bark  at  him,  and  Ned  fixed  his  eye  upon  him  in  some 
doubt,  until  Sam  smiled.  He  then  commenced  a  retrograde 
movement,  increasing  the  distance  between  him  and  Sam,  and 
going  round  and  round  him,  eyeing  him  from  head  to  foot ; 
while  Jowler  kept  by  his  side,  barking  as  he  followed  Ned 
round  the  circle.  Ned  knew  Sam,  he  was  sure  he  did,  and  so 
did  Jowler,  as  soon  as  Sam  spoke  to  him,  and  began  to 
sneeze  and  wriggle  himself  about,  and  to  manifest  great 
shame  that  he  had  made  such  a  mistake.  Ned  was  too  much 
surprised  this  time  ;  it  sobered  him.  He  knew  it  was  Sam, 


118  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

his  old  playmate  ;  but  such  a  change  !  How  had  it  come 
about  ?  He  felt  a  kind  of  diffidence  in  approaching  him ; 
he  almost  wished  for  the  old  patched  clothes  and  the  little 
flat  hat ;  but  that  feeling  was  only  momentary,  a  flash  through 
the  mind.  The  neat  trim  of  the  clothes,  the  improved  ap 
pearance  of  Sam's  whole  exterior  really  delighted  him  ;  and 
instead  of  flying  off  into  some  extravagances,  he  took  Sam's 
hand,  and  shaking  it  with  all  his  might, 

"  Did  Major  Morris  give  you  this  suit,  Sam  ?' 

"  No,  it,  was  the  lady." 

"  She  is  a  lady.  I  should  think  you  would  love  her,  Sam 
very  much.  Aint  they  nice,  though,  Jim  ?  Just  look  at  this 
shirt  collar  and  the  bosom,  and  this  handkerchief  round  his 
neck,  and  the  hat  and  shoes.  Oh,  Sam,  I  am  so  glad  you 
need  not  wear  the  old  clothes  any  more ; — do,  won't  you 
come  and  let  Ma  see  you,  and  Ellen,  just  to  see  what  they 
will  say." 

"  But  he  will  want  to  go  home  first,  Ned,  and  show  him 
self  there." 

"  I  will  come  up  this  evening,  right  after  supper." 

And  again  they  separated  for  their  different  homes,  and 
Sam  hastened,  with  his  bundle  under  his  arm,  hardly  able  to 
keep  from  a  run,  he  was  so  anxious  to  see  how  they  would 
feel. 

They  were  at  supper,  as  Sam  entered.  His  mother 
dropped  her  knife  and  fork  and  jumped  up  from  the  table  ; 
her  hands  were  raised,  and  her  whole  countenance  expressive 
of  the  most  pleasant  surprise. 

"  Why,  Sammy  !  where  did  you  get  these  from  ?  Oh, 
how  nice  ;  do,  Pa,  look  at  him." 

Mr.  Oakum  had  pushed  his  chair,  and  a  smile  passed 
over  his  weather-beaten  countenance,  as  he  looked  at  Sam ; 
and  his  heart  blessed  God  for  him.  He  was  pleased,  indeed, 
and  almost  proud  to  perceive  what  a  fine-looking  boy  he 
was,  but  he  knew  his  worth  as  few  could  know  it.  He  could 
not  speak,  but  he  felt  of  the  clothes  and  smiled,  and  then 
wiped  the  tears  that  would  come  in  spite  of  every  effort  to 
keep  them  back.  He  felt  that  there  was  something  more 
than  good  luck  in  all  this.  Sam  was  already  reaping  the 
fruits  of  the  promise,  ':  thy  days  shall  be  long  in  the  land 
which  the  Lord  thy  God  giveth  thee." 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  119 


CHAPTER  IX. 

How  swiftly  pass  the  beautiful  months  of  summer  ;  its 
flowers  and  its  fruits  come  and  go  in  succession,  and  must 
be  enjoyed  in  their  season  or  not  at  all. 

To  our  boys  it  seemed  to  have  flown  more  rapidly  than 
ever  ;  the  constant  occupation  of  every  day,  and  almost  every 
working  hour,  caused  the  days  and  weeks  to  pass  away  im 
perceptibly  and  pleasantly. 

And  now,  the  long-wished-for  period  has  arrived,  when 
the  great  contract  with  Major  Morris  is  to  be  fulfilled.  The 
boat  is  ready,  and  will  carry  quite  a  load.  The  farmers  are 
busy  digging,  and  each  is  anxious  to  deliver  his  quota  as 
soon  as  possible.  It  was  well  for  Jim  that  he  stipulated  in 
the  bargain  to  receive  them  only  as  he  wanted  them.  Jim's 
thinking  habits  were  of  great  service  to  him. 

A  new  hand  must  be  obtained  to  assist  in  navigating 
their  little  vessel  ;  her  size,  the  quantity  of  freight,  and  the 
season  of  the  year,  all  demanded  it.  Sam  Oakum  felt  that 
this  devolved  upon  him,  but  Jim  insisted  upon  it  that  they 
would  unitedly  pay  for  the  extra  help. 

"  I  shall  not  allow  that,  Jim,  no  how.  You  give  me  now 
one-third  of  all  we  make,  and  you  do  all  the  business.  So 
ou  see  I  am  going  this  very  night  to  speak  to  Sam  Cutter  ; 
e  will  be  a  good  fellow  to  row  with  me,  and  you  can  steer, 
and  I  shall  pay  Sam  out  of  my  own  money." 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word,  and  found  Sam  Cutter  ready 
enough  to  go  with  him  ;  so  a  bargain  was  soon  made,  and  as 
Mr.  Cutter's  potatoes  were  the  first  engaged,  twenty-five 
bushels  of  the  lot  were  carted  early  in  the  morning,  and  put 
on  board.  Jim  was  there  ready  to  receive  them,  and  as  soon 
as  delivered  counted  out  the  money. 

"  There,  William,  is  six  dollars  and  twenty-five  cents.  It 
is  all  in  quarters,  but  it  is  just  as  good.  Give  that  to  your 
Pa,  and  when  I  take  the  next  load,  I  will  pay  for  that  in  the 
same  way.  Twenty-five  bushels,  at  twenty-five  cents  a 
bushel,  make  just  six  dollars  and  twenty-five  cents,  don't 
it?" 

Jim  said  this  because  William  Cutter  seemed  to  be  in  a 
maze,  as  though  not  exactly  comprehending  the  matter. 


y 
h 


120  JAMES    MOXTJOY  ]     OR, 

"  Oh  yes,  it's  all  right,  no  doubt;  but  I  say,  Jim  Montjoy, 
where  did  you  get  all  this  mouey  from  1  I  tell  you  what.  I 
mean  to  work,  see  if  I  don't,  if  it  brings  in  money  at  this 
rate." 

"  Why,  we  have  had  some  pretty  hard  pulls  for  it,  have 
we  not.  Sam? — or  rather  you  have." 

';  Yes  we  both  have,  but  no  matter  for  that ;  it  makes  the 
money  all  the  sweeter.  You  see  now,  William,  how  this  thing 
works — your  brother  and  yourself  have  been  busily  engaged 
all  summer,  cultivating  your  potatoes  and  other  things  ;  now 
you  have  dug  them  and  received  your  money,  that  pays  you 
for  your  work ;  we  now  carry  them  off  to  a  distance,  where 
they  are  wanted  more  than  they  are  here,  and  sell  them  for 
enough  to  pay  us  for  our  risk,  and  labor,  and  expense  of 
freight.  If  you  had  not  labored  and  raised  them,  we  should 
not  have  them  to  carry  away,  and  make  a  profit  on  ;  on  the 
other  hand,  if  we  could  not  find  a  market  for  them  abroad, 
you  would  not  have  received  half  the  value  for  them  you  now 
get ;  so  you  see  how  your  plough  and  hoe,  and  our  boat,  help 
one  another." 

"  And  your  head,  you  ought  to  have  added,  Jim  ;  for  my 
boat  and  his  potatoes  would  not  have  been  worth  much,  with 
out  that  head  of  yours." 

William  Cutter  was  no  great  philosopher,  and  perhaps 
did  not  clearly  comprehend  the  drift  of  Jim's  argument,  but 
he  felt  the  silver  pieces  in  his  hand,  and  realized  that  it  was 
a  larger  sum  than  had  ever  been  there  before  ;  and  he  was 
satisfied,  that  in  some  way  it  had  been  obtained  by  the  enter 
prise  and  labor  of  Jim  and  Sam  ;  and  as  he  walked  along  to 
wards  home  he  said  to  himself  a  great  many  times, 

"  If  working  will  do  it,  I'll  work,  see  if  I  don't ;  there 
will  be  more  potatoes  and  beans  to  sell  another  year,  see  if 
there  aint." 

The  new  boat  proved  her  value,  on  her  first  trip  ;  she  was 
not  a  fast  sailer,  but  she  rode  the  waves  well,  and  would  bear 
a  stiff  breeze.  How  rejoiced  was  Sam,  as  he  sat  at  the  helm, 
to  witness  the  beautiful  manner  in  which  she  would  meet  the 
swell,  and  bound  over  it  like  a  bird  of  the  water. 

Old  Peter  had  also  much  to  say  in  her  praise. 

"  He  did  not  'spect  to  see  such  a  ship-shape  craft ;  she  aint 
made  to  run  fast,  but  she'll  bear  the  wind,  and  she'll  ride 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  121 

the  waves,  and  that's  what  you  want,  my  hearties.  But  what's 
her  name  ?" 

"  Oh  we  have  not  given  her  a  name  yet,  we  haven't  thought 
about  that." 

"  Never  thought  about  that  ?  but  you  must  think  about 
it ;  what  is  a  boat  without  a  name  1  Then  I  s'pose  she  aiut 
christened,  neither?" 

"What's  that?"  said  Sam,  looking  very  earnestly  at  old 
Peter. 

"  Why,  christened  her ;  don't  you  know  what  that  means  ? 
Aint  you  never  seen  a  ship  launched  ?" 

No,  sir,  I  have  never  seen  a  ship  at  all.  only  at  a  distance, 
like  the  one  that  is  sailing  away  off  yonder." 

"  Oh  well,  then,  you  aint  seen  the  finest  sight  ever  a  man 
looked  at ;  but  you  will  see  it  one  of  these  days,  I'll  warrant 
you,  and  may  be  stand  at  her  bow,  and  break  the  bottle  of 
rum  yourself." 

"  I  would  like  to  break  all  the  bottles  of  rum  I  could  get, 
on  her  bow,  or  any  where  else,  for  all  keeping  any  aboard  of 
her.  But  is  that  the  way  you  christen  them,  Uncle  Peter?" 

"  Ay,  ay  ;  but  I  s'pose  it  aint  worth  while  to  do  no  such 
thing  on  this  craft  o'  your'n,  seeing  she  is  launched,  and  in 
sailing  trim;  but  I  tell  you  what,  if  you  aint  given  her  a 
name,  I'll  do  it ;  you  must  call  her  Susie,  do  you  hear  ?" 

"  Would  you  ?" 

"  Yes  would  I,  and  where  can  you  get  a  prettier  name,  or 
one  that  will  bring  you  better  luck  than  that  ?" 

"  Well,  if  you  say  so ;  it's  a  pretty  name,  aint  it,  Jim  ?" 

Old  Peter  was  determined  to  see  that  his  favorite  name 
vas  fastened  to  the  boat ;  and,  in  a  manner  that  could  not 
have  been  expected  from  him,  printed  it,  in  very  legible  char 
acters,  on  the  inside  of  her  stern. 

"  Now,  good  luck  to  her  !  and  don't  you,  boy,  ever  leave 
her  while  there's  a  plank  to  stand  on  ; — hear  that  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  I  shall  not  leave  her  for  a  trifle." 

The  potatoes  and  beans  proved  very  satisfactory  to  Major 
Morris.  Jim  received  his  money  for  each  load,  and  was  thus 
enabled  to  carry  out  his  plan  of  paying  for  them.  No  sooner 
was  a  quantity  brought  down  to  him,  measured  and  put  into 
the  boat,  than  he  was  ready  with  the  pay  ;  it  was  counted  out 
to  them  in  good  silver  money.  Many  wondered  where  it  came 
6 


122  JAMES   MONTJOY  j     OR, 

from,  and  made  up  their  minds,  that  Mr.  Montjoy  had  left 
his  family  quite  a  property,  for  all  that  was  said  about  his 
dying  poor. 

No  time  was  lost  by  Jim  in  completing  the  contract; 
every  day  that  would  answer,  was  seized  upon  to  carry  a  load. 
He  neither  counted  profits,  nor  indulged  in  the  least  recrea 
tion,  until  the  whole  matter  was  settled. 

A  full  month  passed,  using  their  utmost  diligence,  before 
they  took  on  board  the  last  load,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of 
delivering  it  safely,  and  receiving  from  Major  Morris,  not  only 
the  full  balance  due,  but  an  expression  of  his  perfect  satis 
faction  with  the  whole  affair.  One  hundred  dollars  Jim  and 
Ned  could  now  call  their  own,  for  although  Ned  said  that  it 
ought  to  belong  to  Jim,  he  would  hear  to  no  such  thing ; 
Ned,  he  said,  had  worked  as  hard  as  either  of  them,  and 
sometimes  harder. 

"  Well,  Jim,  what  would  all  the  working  have  amounted 
to,  without  those  thoughts  of  yours  ?  and  only  to  think  how 
I  laughed  at  you." 

"  We  won't  mind  that  now,  Ned  ;  but  if  you  won't  laugh, 
I  will  tell  you  what  I  have  been  thinking  about  again." 

"  Do  tell,  Jim  ?  I  will  never  ridicule  any  of  your  thoughts 
after  this." 

It  happened  that  the  boys  were  sitting  on  their  favorite 
rock,  enjoying  the  calm  decline  of  one  of  autumn's  loveliest 


"  Come,  Jim,  I  promise  you  I  won't  laugh." 

"  Why,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Ned,  I  have  been  thinking, 
whether  there  was  no  way,  that  we  might  be  supplied  with 
such  things  as  we  need  from  a  store,  without  going  to  Griz 
zle's  ;  I  am  tired  of  it,  for  my  part." 

"  There  is  no  use  of  thinking  about  that,  Jim,  or  talking 
about  it  either ;  we  have  had  that  over  long  enough ;  we 
cannot  help  ourselves,  and  there's  the  end  of  it." 

"  I  don't  know  that ;  I  think  we  might  help  ourselves." 

"  How,  Jim  ?     Come,  let  me  hear." 

"  Do  you  remember,  Ned,  I  once  told  you  about  a  boat  I 
saw  at  the  fort,  which  had  come  from  a  distance  with  stores 
for  the  garrison  ? — there  were  large  square  chests  of  tea,  just 
as  they  came  from  China,  and  barrels  of  molasses  and  sugar, 
and  casks  of  rice,  and  a  great  variety  of  things,  enough  to 
have  completely  filled  Mr.  Grizzle's  store." 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  123 


"  Yes  ;  I  remember  you  told  us  about  it,  when  you  came 
home.  But  what  of  it.  Jim  ?  What  good  will  they  do  us  'I 

"  I  do  not  expect  that  those  particular  articles  will  benefit 
us,  especially ;  but  I  have  thought  a  great  deal  about  the 
matter  since  then,  and  now,  what  I  was  going  to  propose  is, 
to  put  your  money  with  mine,  and  let  me  lay  it  out  in  tea, 
and  molasses,  and  sugar,  and  some  other  things." 

"  Why,  Jim,  now  you  are  crazy.  Why,  when  should  we 
ever  eat  up  a  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  such  things  ?" 

"  But  you  are  too  fast,  Ned  ;  you  don't  wait  to  hear  what 
I  have  to  say.  I  intended,  when  we  had  procured  these 
things,  to  let  the  neighbors  know  of  it,  and  when  they  wanted, 
we  could  sell  to  them  for  a  small  profit  I  know  many  would 
prefer  buying  of  us,  rather  than  of  Grizzle." 

"  Why,  Jim  !"  and  Ned  jumped  down  from  the  rock, 
and  placing  himself  immediately  before  his  brother,  looked 
up  at  him  with  great  earnestness. 

"  You  mean  that  we  should  set  up  a  little  store — don't 
you,  Jim?" 

"  Yes,  it  would  be  something  like  that." 

"  And  then,  perhaps,  after  a  while  we  should  have  a  great 
many  things,  and  a  great  many  people  would  come  to  buy  of 
us ;  I  know  they  would,  for  they  all  like  you  so  much." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,  Ned  ;  but  I  think  we  could 
sell  things  cheaper  than  they  have  been  accustomed  to  buy 
them,  and,  if  so.  they  will  surely  come  ;  and  if  we  can  take 
such  little  things  from  them  as  we  have  sold  at  the  fort,  and 
give  them  a  fair  price" — 

"  Oh,  Jim,  only  think  of  it — hurra,  hurra  !" 

"  Do,  Ned,  stop  ;  you  will  frighten  all  the  folks." 

"  What  is  to  pay  now,  Ned  ?" 

"  Oh,  Sam,  is  that  you  ? — hurra,  Sam." 

"What  ails  him,  Jim?" 

"  Oh,  he  has  got  into  one  of  his  tantrums  again." 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Sam  Oakuin,  you  don't  know  what 
Jim  has  been  thinking  about  this  time ;  it  beats  his  old 
thinking,  I  tell  you." 

"  Why,  what  is  it,  Ned  ?     Come,  tell." 

"  Oh,  Sam,  Jim  is  going  to  set  up  a  store,  and  do  all 
manner  of  things." 

Jim  and  Sam  could  stand  no  more  j  so  they  broke  out 


124  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR. 

into  a  hearty  fit  of  laughter.  Sam,  supposing  it  to  be  a  joke, 
took  no  farther  notice  of  the  matter. 

"  You  make  me  laugh,  Ned,  whether  I  will  or  no ;  but  I 
don't  feel  much  like  laughing  just  now." 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter,  Sam?"  said  both  boys  at  once. 

"  There  has  nothing  happened  to  me ;  but  I  have  just 
been  talking  with  Bill  Andrews — he  feels  pretty  bad.  Bill 
is  in  trouble." 

"  There,  Jim  ;  I  told  you  so.  Don't  you  remember  the 
day  your  boat  was  put  into  the  water,  Sam?  I  saw  then  that 
something  was  the  matter  with  Bill." 

"  I  hope  he  has  not  taken  to  any  of  his  old  ways." 

"  Oh,  no,  Jim  ;  I  don't  think  Bill  will  ever  take  to  them 
again.  But  you  know  Bill's  mother  ?" 

"  She  has  not  turned  him  away,  has  she  ?" 

"  No,  Ned,  not  exactly ;  but  I  am  afraid  he  will  go 
away." 

"  Oh,  Sam  !  don't  say  so,  for  Bill  is  such  a  clever  fellow." 

"  I  know  he  is" — and  Sam's  eyes  began  to  glisten,  and 
his  lip  to  tremble — "  he  is  a  real  clever  fellow ;  and  to  think 
how  well  he  has  behaved,  and  how  different  he  is  from  what 
he  once  was.  I  should  not  think  his  mother  could  do  so." 

"  Has  she  been  scolding  him,  Sam?" 

"  Pretty  much  so,  Ned.  You  know  how  Bill  used  to  let 
things  go — almost  any  how — he  says  he  did.  Bill  is  sorry 
for  all  that ;  he  is  very  sorry — I  know  he  is.  But  I  tell  you 
what  I  believe,  boys,  that  when  we  have  done  wrong,  even  if 
we  are  sorry  for  it,  and  try  to  do  better,  something  or  other 
comes  up  after  a  while  to  make  us  smart  for  it ; — perhaps  we 
did  not  feel  sorry  enough,  or  may  be  it  is  to  make  us  sorry 
all  our  lives ; — I  suppose  we  ought  to  be.  Well,  as  I  was 
saying,  Bill  used  to  be  much  at  Grizzle's,  and  Grizzle  let  him 
run  in  debt  as  much  as  he  pleased." 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Sam  Oakum,  I  would  not  go  in  debt 
for  any  thing.  I  had  rather  live  on  raw  clams  and  sea-weed." 

"  So  would  I,  Ned.  But,  as  I  was  saying,  Grizzle  knew 
well  enough  that  Bill's  mother  had  land.  He  knew  he 
should  get  his  pay." 

"  But  don't  you  remember.  Sam,  when  you  and  I  went 
there  last  summer,  to  engage  potatoes,  Bill  said  he  only  owed 
Grizzle  a  trifle  ?" 

"  I  know  he  did,  Jim,  and  so  he  thought,  but  Bill  has 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  125 


been  careless.  He  has  taken  potatoes  there  every  year,  as 
he  thought  enough  to  square  his  account ;  but  he  never  saw 
how  it  was,  nor  had  any  settlement  made,  and  it  has  run  on 
until  lately ;  and  when  Bill  asked  him,  for  the  first  time,  for 
his  account — what  do  you  think  ?  Grizzle  ups  with  a  bill  of 
more  than  eighty  dollars." 

"Eighty  dollars!" 

"  Yes,  Jim,  eighty  dollars  and  upwards.  Bill  said  when 
he  saw  it,  he  felt  as  if  he  should  drop  down." 

"  Did  he  pay  any  of  it  ?  I  would  not  have  paid  one  eent 
of  it,  until  it  had  been  pretty  well  examined.  You  remem 
ber  your  father's  account  ?" 

"  Bill  says  he  was  confounded  by  it,  and  so  afraid  that 
his  mother  should  hear  any  thing  about  it, — for  you  know 
she  is  such  a  queer  woman, — that  he  paid  Grizzle  all  the 
money  that  he  received  from  you — thirty  dollars." 

"  Oh.  what  a  pity  !" 

"  Well,  you  see,  Jim,  Bill  was  so  afraid  his  mother  would 
know  it ; — he  said  it  would  make  her  about  crazy." 

"  Yes ;  but  for  all  that,  he  ought  to  have  told  his  mo 
ther." 

"  I  suppose  he  ought ;  but  she  soon  knew  it.  For  what 
did  Grizzle  do,  but  send  Dick  Tucker  there ;  and  he  has 
taken  the  cattle  and  other  things  to  pay  the  bill." 

"  Oh,  Sarn,  I  am  sorry  for  Bill.  I  wonder  what  his  mo 
ther  did  say?" 

"  Bill  says  she  called  him  every  thing  she  could  think  of; 
and  then  she  cried  and  hallooed  so  loud,  that  he  had  to  go 
for  the  widow  Brown  to  come  and  pacify  her.  But  he  says 
he  can  stay  at  home  no  longer ;  so  he  is  going  across  the 
barrens  to  see  a  Mr.  Rutherford,  who  promised  to  be  a  friend 
to  him ;  and  he  says,  he  never  means  to  come  back,  until  he 
gets  money  enough  to  pay  that  account ;  and  he  is  coming 
here  to  bid  you  good  by." 

"  Sam  Oakum,  this  is  too  bad.  I  have  been  thinking 
how  Bill  might  be  a  great  help  to  us,  and  himself  too." 

"  It  is  no  use ;  he  is  done  for  ; — his  cattle  are  gone,  and 
so  there  is  an  end  of  it.  But  don't  say  any  thing  to  Bill 
about  this,  nor  let  him  see  that  you  feel  bad  towards  him." 

"  We  don't  feel  bad  towards  him.  Why,  Sam  Oakum, 
we  like  Bill  Andrews  almost  as  well  as  we  do  you ; — but 
there  he  comes." 


126  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

Bill  never  appeared  to  better  advantage  than  he  did  that 
evening :  his  countenance  was  naturally  one  of  those  bright 
and  playful  ones,  over  which  there  could  always  be  seen 
some  streaks  of  sunshine.  He  had  really  been  through  a 
severe  trial ;  and,  had  not  his  principles  been  well  established, 
he  might  have  been  driven  by  desperation  to  his  old  habits; 
but  his  resolution  against  those  evil  ways  was  strong.  And 
although  Hettie,  the  star  of  hope  to  him,  had  been  some  time 
absent,  yet  her  image  was  still  near  to  him — a  pure  and  en 
chanting  idea — lifting  his  mind  to  better  things,  and  cre 
ating  a  true  disgust  for  what  was  low  and  corrupting.  His 
look  was  sad,  but  not  cast  down.  He  gave  his  hand  to  the 
boys,  and  shook  theirs  with  great  cordiality.  His  eye 
indeed  glistened,  and  his  lip  quivered,  but  these  were  only 
tokens  of  the  pain  it  gave  him  to  part  from  friends  whom  he 
loved  so  well :  few  words  were  spoken.  Ned  had  an  abhor 
rence  for  tears.  He  therefore  turned  suddenly  away,  and 
began  throwing  stones  very  violently  at  some  invisible  ob 
ject.  Jim  and  Sam  were  not  made  of  such  stern  material; 
and  I  do  not  suppose  it  ought  to  be  set  down  against  them, 
that,  as  soon  as  Bill's  back  was  fairly  turned,  and  on  his 
way,  they  had  between  them  quite  a  time  of  it. 

On  the  morrow,  just  as  the  sun  was  beginning  to  pour 
forth  a  flood  of  glorious  light,  Bill  shut  the  little  gate  that 
led  from  his  mother's  door-yard,  and  turning  round,  as  he 
did  so,  gave  a  smile  through  the  tears  which  were  flowing  to 
his  mother  and  sister,  who  stood  wringing  their  hands  and 
weeping  aloud,  on  the  little  stoop  that  projected  from  their 
front  door.  He  smiled,  to  let  them  see  that  he  had  no  un- 
kindness  in  his  heart;  and  his  tears  were  witness  that  he  was 
on  no  errand  of  pleasure  ;  yet  he  lingered  not,  but,  brushing 
away  the  tears,  and  putting  his  bundle  closer  under  his  arm, 
walked  with  a  firm  step,  straight  on  his  way.  The  sky  was 
clear  and  blue,  except  where  the  beautiful  sun-light  was  ex 
panding  in  the  east,  and  imparting  a  rich  golden  tint.  The 
earth  was  whitened  with  the  autumnal  frost,  and  crisped 
under  his  footsteps,  and  the  thick  leaves  rustled  as  he 
brushed  along  and  disturbed  their  repose.  His  course  was 
directed  towards  the  Widow  Brown's,  where  he  must  stop  and 
say  ''good-by,"  and  perhaps  get  a  message  to  Hettie,  whom 
he  expected  to  meet  before  the  day  was  over. 

He  walked  briskly  on  ;  the  sun  had  not  yet  penetrated 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  127 

the  thick  pines,  and  the  cold  air  of  the  night  still  floated  un 
disturbed  as  he  entered  the  barrens.  A  lively  fire  was 
crackling  on  the  widow's  hearth,  and  at  a  plain,  but  clean- 
looking  table,  sat  Mrs.  Brown  and  her  son.  Coarse  but 
wholesome  was  the  fare  spread  out  upon  it ;  and  both  arose 
as  William  entered,  urging  him  to  sit  down  and  partake  with 
them ;  having  taken  but  a  slight  repast  before  he  left  his 
home,  the  keen  air  and  the  walk  had  prepared  him  to  enjoy 
refreshment.  Their  meal  ended,  a  little  parcel  taken  for 
Hettie,  a  warm  shake  of  the  hand,  and  God's  blessing  im 
plored  upon  him,  and  he  was  off. 

This  going  to  seek  one's  fortune  is  no  trifling  matter ;  the 
battle  of  life,  where  each  is  striving  for  his  own  particular 
benefit,  and  cares  not  who  sinks,  so  long  as  his  own  dear  self 
securely  floats,  demands  all  the  vital  strength,  and  little 
else  must  claim  our  care  or  notice,  save  the  great  struggle. 

Bill  was  yet  a  stranger  to  life,  only  as  it  glided  along  in 
the  quiet  of  seclusion,  and  that  seclusion  not  the  best  adapt 
ed  to  bring  forth  man's  noblest  efforts ;  beyond  a  bar,e  sup 
port,  and  perhaps  sometimes  a  thought  of  sharing  his  humble 
portion  with  her  who  had  been  a  sort  of  guardian  angel  to 
him,  his  wishes  had  not  hitherto  aspired.  No  wonder,  then, 
if  trifles  had  a  power  to  disturb  him,  which,  to  those  im 
mersed  in  scenes  of  busy  life,  would  be  but  as  an  insect's 
buzz  ;  a  gentle  brush  and  it  is  gone.  William  Brown  had 
left  the  cottage  with  him,  and  pleasant  had  been  their  chat 
together  for  a  few  miles  ;  when  about  to  separate,  he  merely 
said, 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  good  luck,  and  if  you  see  Hettie,  please 
say  to  her  that  Dave  Cross  will  be  along  by  Rutherford's  next 
week,  ai\d  that  he  will  stop  and  bring  any  word  home  that 
she  wishes  to  send ;  but  I  guess,  between  you  and  me,  it  is 
only  an  excuse  to  have  a  chat  with  Hettie." 

Immediately  after  parting,  Bill  crossed  the  old  bridge  by 
the  mill,  and  went  on  his  way ;  but  something  had  disturbed 
the  inner  man,  for,  as  he  ascended  the  hill,  he  paused  where 
two  roads  met,  one  leading  to  Mr.  Rutherford's,  the  other  to 
the  nearest  town.  A  large  stone  lay  at  the  point  where  they 
met:  he  threw  his  little  bundle  down,  with  an  air  that  might 
mean,  perhaps  it  did, 

"  I  don't  care  what  becomes  of  you  or  me  either ;"  and 
then  took  a  seat  on  the  stone,  leaned  his  chin  on  the  head  of 


128  JAMES  MONTJOY;    OR, 

his  hickory  staff,  and  looked  at  the  grass  and  the  stones  and 
the  old  fence,  and  occasionally  at  a  stray  bird,  as  though 
there  was  something  wrong  about  them.  He  waited  a  good 
long  hour,  in  thinking,  and  hesitating,  and  vexing  himself, 
and  then  trying  to  make  the  best  of  it ;  and  finally  picked 
up  his  bundle  and  started  off,  not  in  the  direction  of  the 
town,  but  straight  towards  Mr.  Rutherford's.  It  was  late  in 
the  afternoon  before  he  accomplished  his  journey,  and  found 
himself  entering  the  gate  which  opened  into  the  extensive 
grounds  surrounding,  as  it  was  commonly  called,  the  Ruther 
ford  House.  He  had  never  seen  any  thing  like  it  before, 
and  a  more  snug  or  home-looking  domicil  was  seldom  to  be 
met  with.  There  was  a  beautiful  green  meadow,  with  a 
long  broad  gravel  road  extending  to  the  house  ;  and  there 
were  large  trees,  spreading  their  long  and  drooping  branches, 
scattered  thickly  over  the  meadow  and  lining  the  road,  and 
the  house  nestled  beneath  the  shelter  of  some  of  the  very 
prettiest  and  largest  of  the  trees.  It  made  no  pretensions 
to  architectural  beauty,  but  it  was  large  and  well  built ;  and 
the  multitude  of  outhouses  and  extensive  range  of  barns 
and  sheds,  all  in  good  order,  spoke  of  room  for  man  and  beast, 
and  of  comfort  too.  Bill  thought  nothing  of  all  this,  his 
heart  was  full  of  misgivings  as  to  how  he  should  be  received  ; 
to  him  it  was  all  fine,  too  fine  for  the  like  of  him ;  and  he 
verily  looked  at  some  of  the  outbuildings,  as  he  passed  along, 
to  see  if  there  was  any  place  he  could  feel  at  home  in,  for 
the  night. 

George  Rutherford,  the  inheritor  of  this  lovely  spot,  had 
of  earthly  goods  a  bounteous  store,  but  he' had,  also,  what 
many  an  inheritor  of  earthly  substance  does*  not  possess,  a 
noble  heart,  large  in  its  embrace  of  his  fellow-man  in  all 
conditions,  ever  going  out  in  its  kindly  feelings  towards  some 
object  of  benevolence  ;  humble  in  every  thought  connected 
with  himself,  and  with  devoted  zeal  seeking  to  aid,  to  com- 
forf,  and  to  gratify  the  most  menial  of  his  dependents  and 
the,  most  degraded  and  sorrow-stricken  of  his  neighbors,  far 
or  near.  Although  rich  blessings  crowned  his  days,  and 
sweet  the  cup  of  life  he  quaffed,  he  felt  most  truly  that  no 
desert  of  his  had  earned  them.  Gifts  of  niercy  he  called 
them  all ;  abounding  gifts, — too  good,  but  as  the  tokens  of 
iufin ite  benevolence  to  the  most  unworthy. 

He  wanted,  with  all  this,  something  of  that  shrewdness 


j'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  129 

so  essential  to  the  getting  or  preserving  property  ;  this  world 
so  teems  with  those  who  covet  all  their  eyes  behold,  who  ask 
no  counsel  from  the  law  of  heaven  or  the  code  of  earthly 
justice,  so  long  as  forms  of  law  will  screen  them  in  their  sly 
grasping  after  acres  and  goods,  that  a  man  needs,  with  all 
the  piety  of  a  saint,  something  of  the  serpent's  cunning.  It 
is  not  enough  that  he  covets  no  man's  silver  or  gold,  that  he 
wrongs  no  man  of  his  due,  that  he  extends  his  hand  to  the 
helpless,  that  he  be  ever  ready  to  lift  to  his  own  level  those 
who  are  struggling  below  him :  he  must  take  care  for  him 
self.  Riches  are  fleeting  substances,  with  wings  ever  plumed 
for  flight ;  he  who  enjoys  the  blessings  they  can  bring,  must 
give  all  diligence  to  "  see  well  to  his  flocks  and  herds :  for 
riches  are  not  for  ever  ;"  nor  do  they  descend  to  many  genera 
tions.  Mr.  Rutherford  had  already  experienced  some  trials 
in  this  way ;  his  confidence  had  been  too  strong,  his  sensibil 
ity  for  others'  feelings  too  acute,  and  there  was  great  danger 
that  he  might  yet  be  a  heavy  sufferer,  because  he  did  not 
learn  wisdom,  as  he  might,  from  some  of  the  lessons  he  had 
already  been  through. 

Whatever  doubts  may  have  disturbed  Bill's  mind  as  he 
was  walking  up  the  broad  avenue,  they  were  all  dissipated 
the  moment  he  was  recognized  by  Mr.  Rutherford.  He 
grasped  his  hand  with  the  cordiality  of  a  friend,  took  him  at 
once  into  the  house  and  into  the  presence  of  his  lovely  wife. 

"  You  remember,  my  dear,  the  young  man  who  so  kindly 
assisted  us  at  the  time  of  the  accident  to  our  carriage." 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  said  Mrs.  R.,  rising  and  bidding  him  a 
hearty  welcome. 

Bill  was  put  at  once  at  ease  ;  he  never  before  could  have 
supposed,  that  persons  who  lived  so  very  differently  from 
what  he  had  been  accustomed  to,  could  be  so  affable ;  they 
seemed  to  him  to  feel  and  act  as  if  he  was  as  good  as  any  of 
them  ;  asked  him  as  many  questions  as  old  Sam  Cutter 
would  have  done ;  and  seemed  as  pleased  with  all  the  little 
news  he  communicated,  as  though  he  had  been  a  city  resi 
dent,  loaded  with  tidings  from  the  gay  and  stirring  world. 
The  little  children,  too,  in  all  their  sprightliness  and  beauty, 
those  speaking  images  of  the  parent's  heart,  came  fondling 
round  him ;  his  plain  rough  garments  were  unheeded  by 
them,  and  he  was  soon  as  familiar  with  the  little  prattlers  as 
though  they  had  been  the  children  of  his  nearest  neighbor. 
G* 


130  JAMES    MONTJOY  j     OR, 

But  where  was  Hettie  ?  Bill  wondered  much  why  she 
was  not  among  the  first  to  come  and  greet  him ;  he  did  not 
ask  ;  he  heard  her  name  spoken  by  the  little  ones,  and  his 
heart  would  beat  and  his  breath  grow  short,  and  once  he 
thought  he  heard  her  light  step  in  the  passage ;  and  then 
dark  thoughts  would  come  and  sink  his  spirits,  so  buoyant 
from  his  kind  reception  ;  but  Bill  had  yet  to  learn  some  les 
sons  in  the  school  of  life. 

Mr.  Rutherford  soon  invited  him  to  walk  abroad,  thus 
affording  an  opportunity  to  unburthen  his  mind,  for  he  evi 
dently  had,  come  for  some  express  object.  With  much 
patience  Mr.  R.  listened  to  his  whole  story,  making  no  reply 
whatever  until  the  budget  was  empty,  nor,  indeed,  until  some 
time  after.  Poor  William  verily  thought  that  he  had  come 
to  little  purpose,  and  was  any  thing  than  a  welcome  visitor. 
Mr.  Rutherford,  however,  was  only  thinking  in  what  way  he 
could  best  serve  the  young  man.  He  might  indeed  have 
taken  him  into  his  own  family,  arid  given  him  such  employ 
ment  as  he  had  been  accustomed  to ;  but  he  thought  he 
could  perceive  talents  fitting  him  for  a  different  sphere  of 
life. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  go  to  the  city,  and  try  your 
hand  in  a  store  ?" 

"  I  don't  care  where  I  go,  sir,  nor  what  the  employment  ; 
if  I  can  only  have  a  chance  to  take  care  of  myself  honestly." 

"  It  will  be  very  different  from  any  thing  you  have  been 
accustomed  to  ;  the  work  may  not  be  any  harder,  but  it  will 
be  very  constant,  and  without  much  chance  for  relaxation  ; 
merchants  think  that  business  is  a  substitute  for  every  thing 
else." 

But  William  was  not  to  be  daunted  by  any  prospect  of 
toil ;  and  Mr.  Rutherford,  after  telling  him  all  he  knew  of  the 
routine  of  business,  proposed  to  give  him  a  letter  to  a  friend 
of  his  in  an  extensive  business. 

"  He  will  do  all  that  can  be  done  to  procure  you  a  situa 
tion,  and  then  you  must  do  the  rest  yourself;  but  remember, 
William,  that  the  most  strict  attention  to  every  thing  you 
are  called  to  do,  the  most  unflinching  integrity,  and  the  most 
determined  perseverance,  will  be  requisite  to  your  success  ; 
and  unless  you  have  made  up  your  mind  to  exert  every  en 
ergy,  you  had  better  return  and  engage  yourself  with  what 
ever  you  best  can  at  home." 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  131 


William's  fine  countenance  was  animated  with  an  expres 
sion  that  told  how  his  heart  was  touched. 

''  So  far.  sir,  as  any  exertions,  day  or  night,  to  make  my 
self  useful  and  acceptable  will  do  it,  I  fear  not,  and  I  hope 
my  friends  will  never  have  to  regret  any  efforts  in  my  favor; 
a  sense  of  gratitude,  if  nothing  else.  I  trust  will  secure  my 
integrity." 

"  Well,  William,  I  will  write  this  evening ;  I  hope  you 
will  succeed,  and  I  think  you  will." 

As  they  entered  the  house  on  their  return,  Hettie  was 
just  coming  into  the  hall  Her  appearance  seemed  to  be  ac 
cidental ;  perhaps  it  was.  She  blushed  deeply,  smiled  a  very 
little,  and  gave  her  hand  to  William  in  rather  a  timid  manner. 
He  was  prepared  to  accost  her  warmly,  but  the  peculiarity  of 
her  address  chilled  him,  he  felt  a  restraint  he  could  not  over 
come,  and  his  greeting  was  much  like  her  own.  She  asked 
after  her  mother's  health,  thanked  him  for  his  trouble  in 
bringing  the  little  parcel  for  her.  and  then  withdrew,  leaving 
him  to  follow  Mr.  Rutherford,  who  was  waiting  at  the  parlor 
door  to  receive  him. 

William  was  tired  enough  that  night  to  have  slept 
soundly,  but  his  thoughts  would  not  be  quiet ;  so  he  hailed 
the  dawn  with  delight,  and  was  ready  immediately  after 
breakfast  to  go  on  his  way.  Mr.  Rutherford  took  him  into 
a  small  room  adjoining  the  parlor,  and  handing  him  the 
letter, 

"  There,  William,  I  hope  you  will  find  this  sufficient,  and 
here  is  a  trifle  for  you  in  case  of  need  ;  if  ever  you  become  a 
rich  man,  you  can  return  it :  let  me  hear  from  you,  how  you 
succeed.  So  saying,  he  placed  a  little  roll  of  bills  in  his 
hand,  and  bidding  him  God-speed,  at  once  opened  the  door, 
apparently  wishing  to  avoid  the  shower  of  thanks  which  he 
saw  beaming  from  the  eye  of  the  young  man. 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  never  shall  forget  your  kindness,  and  I  hope  I 
may  yet  prove  it  to  you." 

Mr.  Rutherford  made  no  reply ;  he  was  not  indifferent  to 
gratitude,  but  he  did  not  care  to  be  thanked  personally :  it 
was  reward  enough  for  him  that  he  had  made  a  fellow  crea 
ture  happy,  and  done  what  he  could  to  give  a  helping  hand 
to  one  just  venturing  on  the  deep  waters.  Long  may  that 
heart  enjoy  such  draughts  of  godlike  happiness  ;  and  when, 
in  years  to  come,  you  meet  reverse  of  fortune,  if  such  shall 


132  JAMES  MONTJOY;    OR, 

be  thy  fate,  these  stores,  laid  by  in  heaven's  chancery,  will 
be  a  refuge  at  your  utmost  need ;  and  little  deeds  of  love 
like  this,  long,  long  forgotten,  will  come  like  heavenly  mes 
sengers,  and  with  interest  accumulated  beyond  the  miser's 
compound  gain.  In  the  dark  hour  when  clouds,  blacker 
than  the  tempest's  murky  robe,  shroud  all  the  prospects  of 
your  earthly  comfort,  when  hope  of  all  deliverance  that  man 
may  bring,  has  gone,  and  your  sickened  heart  turns  away 
from  earth,  then  shall  you  know,  that  good  deeds  are  not 
lost,  even  here  below,  and  what  your  generous  heart,  in 
spired  from  above,  devised  to  aid,  to  comfort,  and  to  bless 
your  fellows,  has  been  a  hidden  treasure  reserved  against  the 
time  of  deepest  need. 

William  went  joyfully  on  his  way ;  he  had  unrolled  his 
little  treasure,  and  counted  fifty  dollars.  How  his  heart 
blessed  the  nob.'e  man  ;  what  a  spring  of  love  and  hope  burst 
forth  from  it,  sending  a  quickening  influence  through  all 
his  frame  ; — how  elastic  his  step ;  what  a  cheerful  light 
sparkles  from  his  eye.  The  prospect  before  him  is  no  longer 
dark. 

Immediately  after  passing  the  house,  the  road  wound 
gradually  around  the  premises  ;  on  one  side  skirted  by  a 
clump  of  woods,  and  on  the  other  by  a  heavy  stone  wall, 
surmounted  by  shrubbery,  so  thick  that  nothing  could  be 
seen  through  it.  Suddenly  a  little  gate  opened,  and  Hettie 
came  tripping  down  the  steps,  her  face  wearing  that  witch 
ing  smile,  with  which  she  had  in  days  past  always  met  him. 

"  I  was  afraid,  William,  that  you  would  be  past  before  I 
could  get  here,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  must  see  you,  just  to  say, 
good-by" 

William  was  taken  by  surprise ;  he  seized  her  offered 
hand  and  grasped  it  warmly,  but  he  could  not  speak. 

"  I  have  wanted  to  see  you  very  much,  William,  and  to 
have  a  long  talk  with  you  about  many  things ;  but  I  suppose 
you  must  be  going,  and  I  must  be  back  to  my  work.  But, 
William,  do  you  think  you  will  like  it  in  the  city  ?  You 
know  things  are  so  different  from  what  you  have  been  used 
to." 

He  was  intending  to  be  very  stiff  in  all  his  bearing 
towards  Hettie,  but  he  made  awkward  work  of  it.  There 
was  she,  looking  up  into  his  face  with  all  her  wonted  interest, 
and  how  could  he  meet  those  eyes  and  not  return  their  look 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING  133 

of  pure  and  interested  feeling  ?  So  he  gave  it  up  :  all  hia 
bad  intentions  flew  off  like  mist,  and  his  eye  glanced  as 
kindly  as  hers,  and  his  voice  softened  into  the  old  tones  of 
friendship. 

"  I  know,  Hettie,  that  they  will  be  different,  but  I  think 
I  shall  soon  get  used  to  them,  and  then  I  feel  like  taking 
care  of  myself,  and  who  knows  but  I  may  get  along  as  well 
as  some  others  who  go  there,  and  come  back  with  plenty  of 
money  in  my  pocket?  I  think  then  that  some  of  my  friends 
will  not  be  ashamed  to  speak  to  me,  or  to  acknowledge  old 
friendships."  And  as  William  said  this  he  looked  at  Hettie 
with  so  much  meaning,  that  she  could  not  mistake  its  refer 
ence  to  her. 

"  If  you  think,  William,  that  your  prosperity  will  make 
a  difference  in  the  feelings  of  your  friends  towards  you,  or 
at  least  of  some  of  them,  you  are  mistaken  ;  you  may  succeed 
as  you  anticipate,  or  you  may  not ;  you  may  return  wealthy 
or  poor,  as  you  now  are ;  if  you  only  bring  back  as  true  and 
kind  a  heart,  William,  you  will  find  some  to  welcome  you,  who 
will  rejoice  more  in  that,  than  in  any  great  change  in  your 
circumstances." 

And  Hettie  cast  such  a  meaning  in  her  look,  too,  as  she 
fixed  her  eye  full  upon  him,  that  he  could  not  mistake  its 
reference  either.  He  saw  the  tears  glistening  in  her  bright 
eyes,  and  he  could  have  done  all  manner  of  things  to  him 
self,  for  speaking  as  he  did. 

'•  Forgive  me,  Hettie,  forgive  me  if  I  have  said  any  thing 
to  trouble  you  ;  I  know  that  you,  at  least,  will  not  be  affected 
by  my  condition,  if  my  character  is  only  good." 

"  I  cannot  say  any  thing  more  about  the  future,  William, 
than  that  I  am  very  sure  I  shall  ever  feel  a  deep  interest  in 
your  welfai'1,  and  my  ardent  prayer  shall  be  that  you  may 
be  kept  from  the  many  evils  which  I  am  told  lurk  around 
one  going  into  the  city,  as  you  do,  a  stranger  to  its  tempta 
tions." 

"  I  know,  Hettie,  they  say  that  I  shall  run  a  great  risk  in 
many  ways,  and  I  feel  that  I  need  something  to  keep  my 
mind  fastened  on,  that  will  help  me  to  avoid  the  evil,  what 
ever  it  may  be,  and  that  will  strengthen  me  in  doing  right. 
You  have  been  such  a  helper  to  me,  Hettie ;  you  know  from 
what  a  dreadful  state  you  once  delivered  me ;  you  have 
great  power  over  me.  I  am  now  going  from  you  ;  will  you 


134  JAMES  MONTJOY;    OR, 

not  let  me  carry  along  with  me  that  promise  which  I  have 
often  asked — if  you  would  only  say  that  it  might  be.  one  of 
these  days,  I  should  go  away  happy ;  the  hope  would  be 
like  your  presence  with  me." 

Hettie  cast  down  her  eyes  as  William  continued  talking  ; 
she  heard  him  quietly  through,  and  then  shaking  her  head 
significantly,  replied  in  a  voice  that  trembled  indeed,  but  the 
words  were  well  chosen  and  came  from  her  heart. 

"  That  promise,  William,  I  cannot  make  now,  any  more 
than  I  could  have  done  before  this ;  you  and  I  are  to  be 
separated  for  many  years  perhaps  ;  great  changes  may  take 
place  in  that  time  ;  you  will  see  many  things  very  unlike 
what  you  have  been  accustomed  to ;  your  views  about  per 
sons  and  things  may  change  with  your  circumstances.  I 
shall  think  of  you  as  a  dear  friend,  as  a  brother  if  you  wish 
it ;  I  will  pray  for  you  when  I  do  for  myself,  and  as  earnest 
ly,  William  ;  but  farther  than  this,  you  must  not  ask  me." 

William  ceased,  for  he  knew  Hettie  well  enough  to  be 
certain  that  she  would  yield  nothing  more.  He  parted  from 
her,  as  a  brother  might  leave  a  sister,  dearly  loved ;  he  saw 
the  deep  color  mantling  in  her  cheek,  and  the  tear  that  art 
lessly  rolled  over  it ; — he  could  not  say  the  parting  word. 
She  stepped  back  through  the  little  gate,  and,  as  it  closed, 
he  went  on  his  way  to  seek  that  fortune,  which,  at  times, 
played  before  his  fancy  in  all  the  witching  forms  of 
earthly  prosperity.  How  often  will  this  parting  scene  haunt 
his  waking  and  sleeping  dreams,  through  the  long  years 
that  will  intervene,  ere  a  sight  of  one  so  dear  to  him  now, 
will  bless  his  eyes  again ;  and  how  often  will  he  admire  the 
firmness  and  prudence  of  this  earthly  friend  of  his  heart ! 


CHAPTER   X. 

SAM  OAKUM  had  not  forgotten  the  promise  he  had  given 
old  Mr.  Cutter,  in  the  hour  of  his  deep  trouble :  nor  had  he 
forgotten  the  kindness  which  prompted  the  old  man  to  fly 
to  the  rescue  of  his  parent.  Every  cent  was  precious  in 
Sam's  eyes,  as  sacred  to  repay  that  offering  of  mercy ;  ho 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  135 

would  no  sooner  have  squandered  it  than  he  would  have 
stolen  ;  week  after  week,  on  every  return  from  a  trip,  he 
would  slip  up  to  his  little  chest,  and  deposit  there  the  earn 
ings  of  the  day.  The  additions  were  small,  for  he  was 
obliged,  occasionally,  to  expend  some  part  of  what  he  earned 
for  little  comforts  that  his  mother  needed ; — his  father  being 
rarely  able  to  procure  money  for  his  labor.  SniaJ.  however, 
as  were  the  additions,  the  store  increased.  He  had  already 
carried  to  Mr.  Cutter  five  dollars,  and  received  his  hearty 
blessing,  and  such  a  squeeze  of  his  hand  as  Sam  did  not  for 
get  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 

Jim  had  squared  up  with  him  the  moment  he  had  re 
ceived  the  last  payment ;  and  as  Sam  looked  at  the  heap  of 
money  which  Jim  said  was  his  share  of  their  enterprise,  he 
was  too  happy  to  say  any  thing.  He  looked  up  at  Jim, 
whose  calm,  clear  eye  turned  from  the  money  to  Sam,  and 
then  back  again  to  the  money,  as  much  as  to  say — 

"  It's  yours,  Sam,  honestly  come  by  ; — it's  all  right,  why 
don't  you  take  it?" 

Ned,  who  was  standing  by  also,  and  watching  Sam,  un 
derstood  better  than  Jim  what  the  matter  was. 

"  Why  don't  you  hurra,  Sam,  and  let  it  out,  and  not 
keep  choking  up  so?  I  know  how  you  feel; — shall  I  go  it 
for  you  ?  Hurra,  hurra,  hurra  !" 

"  Ned,  what  does  ail  you  ?  what  is  the  use  of  making  such 
a  noise  ?" 

"  Oh,  nothing  ;  only  you  see  I  want  to  help  Sam  out  with 
some  of  his  feelings ;  he  is  too  full  to  hold." 

Sam  had  to  smile,  and  that  started  a  tear  or  two,  and 
then  he  tried  to  say  something  about  gratitude  to  the  boys ; 
but  Jim  stopped  him  short. 

"  Now,  Sam,  you  must  not  feel  so ;  you  have  earned  that 
heap  of  money  just  as  much  as  we  have  ours,  and  we  ought 
to  thank  you ;  for  how  should  we  ever  have  got  along  with 
out  you  and  your  boat  ?" 

"  Oh,"  said  Sam,  as  he  began  to  gather  up  his  money,  and 
looking  archly  at  Jim,  "  you  would  have  thought  out  some 
other  way,  I  know." 

Jim  had  to  smile  a  little  ;  and  Ned,  throwing  his  arms  on 
Sam's  shoulders,  and  leaning  over  him,  as  he  picked  up  the 
pieces  of  money, 

"  Sam  Oakum,  I  am  as  glad  to  see  you  put  that  money 


136  JAMES  MONTJOY:   OR, 


in  your  pocket,  as  I  should  be  to  put  it  into  my  own,  and  so 
is  Jim,  I  know." 

Sam  believed  every  word  that  Ned  had  spoken  ;  and  after 
making  a  plan  to  meet  together  that  evening,  he  went  on  his 
way.  His  pockets  were  heavy,  but  his  heart  was  light ;  and 
as  he  passed  the  rock,  which  had  ever  been  memorable  to 
him  since  the  hour  when  he  sat  there  in  his  despondency, 
and  the  boys  came  to  him  with  this  plan  of  enterprise,  he 
could  not  but  say  to  himself, 

"  What  a  grand  thing  it  has  been  that  Jim  Montjoy  had 
those  thoughts." 

Mr.  arid  Mrs.  Oakum  were  just  about  to  sit  down  at 
their  humble  board  as  Sam  entered. 

"  Here,  Pa ;  see  what  the  boat  has  done." 

"  What  is  it,  Sammy  ?"  said  his  mother,  looking  earnestly 
at  him,  her  hands  raised,  and  her  countenance  expressing 
great  anxiety.  Sam  made  no  reply,  but  commenced  unlading 
his  pockets  and  piling  the  money  in  little  heaps  on  the 
table. 

"  It  is  Pa's  ;  it  has  all  come  of  the  boat.  If  Pa  had  not 
built  that  boat,  we  never  could  have  got  all  this ;  and  now 
he  can  pay  Billy  Bloodgood  the  fifteen  dollars,  and  then  we 
shall  not  owe  a  single  cent  to  any  one ;  there  is  the  whole  of 
it — twenty-five  dollars — don't  it  look  nice,  Ma  ?" 

Mrs.  Oakum  let  her  hands  drop,  as  soon  as  she  under 
stood  the  matter ;  but  it  was  only  to  take  up  her  apron  ; — 
they  had  work  to  do  with  that.  While  the  father,  overcome 
with  the  sight  of  such  abundance,  and  the  noble  spirit  of  his 
boy,  could  only  say,  in  a  very  trembling  voice, 
"  God  bless  you,  Sammy." 

Tliat  was  a  happy  meal,  though  plain  and  coarse.  A 
spring  of  living  joy  was  bubbling  in  each  heart,  and  sparkling 
forth  in  pure  and  blessed  thoughts  towards  God  and  man. 

Sam  would  gladly  have  had  his  father  carry  the  money 
which  was  to  repay  Mr.  Bloodgood,  and  never  been  known 
as  the  procurer  of  it ;  but  to  this  the  kind  parent  would  not 
consent.  He  felt,  and  truly  too,  that  it  would  be  a  mark 
upon  his  son's  early  life,  not  soon  obliterated :  and  he  was 
willing  to  have  himself  forgotten,  if  the  dear  boy  might  but 
be  strengthened  in  the  path  of  honor  and  virtue. 

The  next  morning,  Sam  was  up  with  the  early  dawn  and 
busy  with  his  daily  routine,  that  he  might  be  ready  to  go  on 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  137 

his  pleasing  errand.  Breakfast  over,  he  arrayed  himself  in 
his  best  bright  blue,  and  with  the  money  in  his  pocket  and 
his  parent's  blessing,  started  off,  his  heart  as  full  of  happi 
ness  as  it  could  well  be.  Thoughts  of  the  dark  scene  which 
he  had  passed  through,  when  kind  friends,  like  angels  of 
mercy,  came  to  his  aid,  he  could  not  repress,  nor  did  he  wish 
to.  the  darker  then,  the  brighter  now.  How  his  heart  beat 
with  pleasure,  as  he  walked  briskly  on,  and  drew  near  to  the 
humble  abode  of  Billy  Bloodgood  :  rough,  to  be  sure,  was  the 
exterior,  and  the  peculiar  habits  of  its  owner  too  visible 
in  the  strange  confusion  around  the  premises ;  but  Sam 
thought  only  of  his  kind  heart  and  ready  hand  in  an  hour 
of  need. 

Things  had  not  yet  been  put  to  rights  at  neighbor  Blood- 
good's,  and  as  Sam  entered  the  house,  there  was  not  only  a 
confused  state  of  pots  and  kettles,  and  relics  of  the  early 
meal,  but  the  good  woman  herself  was  all  wrong  somehow ; 
she  was  in  quite  an  undress,  and  moved  about,  amid  the  do 
mestic  articles  surrounding  her,  with  that  quick,  jerky  air, 
which  generally  denotes  an  unsettled  state  of  the  inner  man 
or  woman. 

Sam  wondered  why  things  did  not  break,  they  rang  against 
each  other  so  sharply.  If  he  was  somewhat  surprised 
at  this,  he  was  much  more  so  at  sight  of  a  stranger, 
seated  near  the  door,  but  a  little  behind  it,  which  circum 
stance  prevented  his  noticing  him  before.  He  was  a  stranger, 
not  only  to  Sam,  but  he  must  have  been  to  all  those  parts, 
for  he  was  like  nothing  seen  in  that  region  for  many  miles' 
circuit ;  his  air  and  contour  was  that  of  a  gentleman.  Sam 
had  already  seen  enough  of  the  world  to  know  that.  He 
was  quite  a  youth,  probably  not  over  nineteen  years  of  age  ; 
his  countenance  manly,  and  rather  stern  at  the  first  glance ; 
but  Sam  thought,  from  a  particular  twist  of  the  corner  of  his 
mouth,  that  he  was  more  amused  than  vexed  with  the  state 
of  things  around  him.  His  form  was  slender,  and  his  com 
plexion  pale,  like  one  who  had  never  yet  been  exposed  to  the 
wear  and  tear  of  life  ;  his  light-brown  hair  was  thrown  care 
lessly  back  from  his  forehead,  and  displayed  to  great  advan 
tage  that  index  of  the  mind. 

He  arose  almost  immediately  upon  Sam's  entering,  and 
with  his  hat  in  hand,  bowed  gracefully  to  the  lady,  who  cast 
but  a  sideling  glance  at  him,  and  then  stooped  down  to 


138  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

rattle  some  of  the  dishes,  without,  apparently,  any  other 
motive  than  to  let  him  see  that  she  was  too  busy  to  attend 
to  him. 

"  You  think  then,  madam,  there  would  be  no  use  in  my 
waiting  to  see  your  husband  ?" 

"No;  I  don't  think  there's  no  earthly  use  in  seeing  him. 
I  tell'd  you.  again  and  again,  we  aint  got  no  young  ones  to 
send — and  that's  the  long  and  short  on  it." 

"  Good  morning,  madam." 

The  young  man,  then  bowing  low,  left  the  house,  and 
walked  with  a  very  erect  and  graceful  carriage  towards  the 
highway." 

"  Good  morning,  Aunt  Sally." 

Mrs.  Bloodgood,  then,  lifting  herself  up,  and  putting  a 
hand  on  each  hip.  looked  with  a  very  stern  and  fixed  gaze 
through  the  open  door,  until  the  stranger  had  fairly  got  out 
of  hearing ;  and  then,  without  answering  Sam's  salutation, 
began  to  rattle  away  in  her  usual  style,  when  by  any  cause 
somewhat  excited. 

"  Him  set  up  for  a  schoolmaster,  with  his  fine  clothes  on, 
and  his  bran  new  hat,  and  his  bowin'  and  scrapin'.  and  his 
madam,  and  all  that,  kind  of  palaver  ;  he  aint  nothin'  but  a 
chicken  himself.  No,  no :  I've  seen  enough  on  'em  in  my 
day ;  there  aint  no  good  comes  on  'em ;  they  put  more  devil 
try  in  the  heads  of  the  young  'uns  than  they've  got  naturally, 
and  that's  enough,  massy  knows." 

"  What's  the  matter,  Aunt  Sally?" 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Sam  Oakum,  I  don't  want  none  of  them 
Yankees  round  me.  I  don't  see  why  the  'tarnal  critters 
can't  stay  in  their  own  country,  and  do  some  honest  thing 
there  for  a  livin',  and  not  come  trampussing  away  down  here 
with  their  larnin',  that  don't  do  no  airthly  good,  but  make 
the  young  'uns  lazy,  and  wanting  to  be  gentlemen  like 
themselves ; — and  what  old  Molly  Brown  sent  the  critter 
here  for,  I  don't  see." 

"  Does  he  want  to  set  up  a  school,  aunt  Sally  ?"  said  Sam, 
looking  at  her  with  a  very  anxious  countenance. 

"  He  did  want  to ;  but  I  guess  he's  got  enough  on  it ; 
and  I'm  so  glad  he's  took  himself  off  'afore  Bloodgood  come 
in,  for  he's  just  fool  enough  to  be  clean  took  with  him;  and 
he's  got  his  head  set  about  havin'  a  schoolmaster,  and  I 
don't  want  none  of  the  varmints  round."  But  looking  at 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  139 


Sam  very  closely,  and  coming  up  to  him,  and  feeling  his 
coat  and  his  trowsers,  and  then  holding  him  off  at  arm's 
length, 

"  Do  tell !  where  upon  airth,  Sammy,  did  you  get  this  ? 
How  smart  you  do  look.  This  has  been  gi'n  to  you,  I  know, 
by  them  great  folks  over  the  water  there  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  A\rell,  aint  that  clever  on  'em,  Sammy?  but  you're  de- 
sarvin'  of  it,  and  I'm  glad  on  it.  It  does  a  body's  heart  good 
to  see  your  mother's  child  look  so  smart  and  tidy.  I 
didn't  hardly  know  you  when  you  come  in.  and  that  plaguy 
man  put  me  into  sich  a  pucker,  I  didn't  hardly  know  what  I 
was  about." 

Sam  had  become  very  impatient  to  be  off;  he  had  anticipat 
ed  a  great  deal  of  joy  from  his  errand,  in  the  proud  satisfaction 
of  paying  a  just  debt ;  but  he  thought  not  of  that  now.  He 
had  learned  enough  to  know  what  the  stranger's  business 
was,  and  he  could  not  endure  the  thought  of  his  leaving  the 
place  in  such  a  manner ;  so  taking  out  his  money,  and  hand 
ing  it  to  Mrs.  Bloodgood, 

"  There,  Aunt  Sally,  is  the  money  which  Mr.  Bloodgood  so 
kindly  helped  my  Pa  to,  when  he  was  in  trouble  :  won't  you 
please  tell  him  that  we  all  thank  him  very  much,  and  hope 
we  shall  never  forget  how  good  he  has  been  to  us  ?" 

'•  You  dear,  blessed  child  !"  Aunt  Sally  could  say  no 
more,  for  she  saw  the  tears  in  Sam's  eyes,  and  her  own  heart 
was  very  peculiar — it  was  soon  set  on  fire. 

"  You  will  tell  him,  won't  you,  Aunt  Sally?  and  that  Pa 
says,  if  he  will  only  let  him  know  any  time  that  he  can  do 
any  thing  for  him,  or  for  you,  day  or  night,  he  will  gladly 
do  it ;  and  Ma  says  so  too  ;  for  you  don't  know  how  happy  it 
made  us  all,  when  you  lent  this  money,  and  how  vsry  happy 
we  are  now,  to  be  able  to  give  it  back  to  you." 

Aunt  Sally  sat  down,  and  taking  up  her  apron  with  both 
hands,  cried  as  hard  as  she  had  scolded  but  a  few  moments 
before.  Sam  laid  the  money  on  the  table  beside  her  and 
wishing  her  good  morning,  made  speed  towards  the  highway. 
He  saw  the  young  man  at  a  distance,  walking  rapidly,  and 
bending  his  course  away  from  the  place  on  the  direct  road  to 
the  barrens  ;  his  only  chance  to  overtake  him  was  by  a  cross 
cut  over  the  fields,  and  through  a  little  clump  of  wood, 
around  which  the  road  to  the  barrens  passed.  And  while 


140  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

Sam  is  hurrying  across  the  lots,  I  must  introduce  the  young 
stranger  a  little  more  particularly  to  my  reader. 

Henry  Tracy  was,  indeed,  descended  from  New  England 
parents,  but  was  not,  as  good  Mrs.  Bloodgood  supposed, 
a  real  Yankee ;  for  his  father  had  emigrated  from  the  state 
of  Maine,  when  quite  a  youth,  and  his  mother,  from  another 
of  the  goodly  sisterhood,  when  a  child.  They  had  settled  in 
one  of  the  middle  States,  and  Henry's  birth-place  was  one  of 
our  largest  cities :  great  pains  had  been  taken  with  his  edu 
cation  ;  his  mind  was  uncommonly  well  stored  for  one  of  his 
age,  and  his  manners  polished  after  the  purest  style :  but, 
above  all  this,  his  heart  had  been  nurtured  by  the  tender 
care  of  a  mother,  whose  love  for  the  truth,  whose  meek  and 
blameless  life,  and  whose  heavenly-minded  temper,  gave  a 
power  to  the  pure  and  holy  thoughts  which  she  was  ever 
dropping  into  the  ear  of  her  son  ; — they  stole  into  his  heart 
like  the  dew  upon  the  tender  plant. 

He  was  now  an  orphan  and  cast  upon  the  world,  with  the 
choice  of  depending  upon  the  charity  of  friends  to  assist  him 
in  completing  his  education,  or  using  what  education  he  had 
already  received,  as  a  means  of  support  and  of  further  pro 
gress  ;  he  wisely  chose  the  latter.  Having  a  slight  acquaint 
ance  with  Mr.  Rutherford,  he  had,  on  calling  to  visit  the 
family,  been  directed  to  this  region,  and  the  widow  Brown, 
to  whom  Mr.  Rutherford  advised  him  to  apply,  could  think 
of  no  one  more  likely  to  take  an  interest  in  a  school  than 
Billy  Bloodgood.  His  reception  there,  and  the  general  ap 
pearance  of  things,  had  discouraged  him  from  any  further 
attempt,  and  he  was  hastening  back  to  seek  a  spot  more  con 
genial  to  his  own  feelings,  and  where  there  might  be  at  least 
some  desire  for  instruction. 

Sam  had  to  be  expeditious,  and  was  barely  able  to  accom 
plish  his  object  by  running  across  one  entire  lot,  and  through 
the  clump  of  woods.  Breathless  with  his  haste,  he  was  un 
able  to  communicate  his  wishes  or  to  apologize  to  the  young 
man  for  coming  upon  him  in  so  abrupt  a  manner,  who  looked 
with  much  surprise  at  him  for  an  explanation. 

"  I  hope  you  will  excuse  me,  sir,  for  stopping  you  ;  I  met 
you.  just  now,  at  Mr.  Bloodgood's.  I  did  not  know  what 
your  business  was,  sir.  But  do  come  back,  we  want  you  very 
much." 

"  Want  me  !     What  do  they  know  about  me  ?" 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  141 

"  Oh.  I  mean,  sir.  they  want  a  teacher." 

"  Mrs.  Bloodgood  says  that  no  one  here  wishes  a  teacher, 
that  the  people  think  they  are  better  off  without  any  instruc 
tion." 

"  But  they  do  not  all  feel  so,  sir  ;  do  come  back  with  me, 
and  I  will  take  you  to  a  man  that  will  tell  you  all  about  it." 

Sam's  appearance  pleased  Mr.  Tracy,  and  the  earnestness 
of  his  entreaty  induced  him  to  consent  to  return,  and  see 
what  new  feature  the  place  might  present. 

They  were  not  long  in  reaching  the  spot  to  which  Sam 
wished  to  conduct  him.  a  very  unlikely  place  in  appearance, 
to  give  encouragement  to  literature,  being  no  other  than  the 
workshop  of  old  Sam  Cutter.  The  old  man  was  in  his 
usual  seat,  holding,  or  rather  leaning  upon  the  handle  of  his 
large  hammer,  and  from  his  short  breathing  and  flushed 
face,  showing  signs  of  his  having  just  been  wielding  it. 
Running  round  the  shop,  with  a  tongs  in  one  hand  and  a 
hammer  in  the  other,  was  Billy  Bloodgood,  helping  himself, 
with  some  directions  and  aid  on  Mr.  Cutter's  part,  in  re 
pairing  an  old  farming  tool.  He  paid,  as  usual,  no  attention 
to  the  new-comers,  except  a  slight  nod  of  his  head,  and  a 
pleasant  smile  to  Sam. 

As  Sam  entered  and  motioned  to  Mr.  Tracy  to  come  in, 
Mr.  Cutter  passed  his  broad  hand  across  the  top  of  his  head, 
smoothing  down  his  bald  forehead,  at  the  same  time  saying, 

"  Your  sarvant,  sir." 

Mr.  Tracy  bowed  to  him  politely,  taking  off  his  hat  with 
as  much  respect  as  if  in  the  presence  of  one  of  the  great 
ones  of  the  earth. 

Sam  Oakum  lost  no  time  in  communicating  to  Mr.  Cut 
ter  the  object  of  the  visitor,  and  the  circumstances  under 
which  he  had  met  with  him  and  brought  him  back. 

"Right,  Sammy,  right;  but  of  all  things,  to  think  of 
Sally  Bloodgood  treating  the  gentleman  in  that  sort.  But 
that's  the  way  with  them ;  they're  a  match  for  the  old  one, 
any  time  ;  all  but  your  mother,  Sam,  she  aint  like  the  rest  on 
'em."  And  then  turning  to  the  young  man, 

"  Sorry,  sir,  you've  had  such  an  indifferent  reception,  but 
what  can't  be  cured  must  be  endured.  Billy  there  knows 
that ;  but  you  see  it  don't  matter  him  whether  she  scolds  or 
coaxes  ;  he  can't  hear  nothin'  no  more  than  the  iron  he's 
poundin'  on." 


142  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 


"  Is  that  Mr.  Bloodgood  ?  Mrs.  Brown  advised  me  to 
call  upon  him  ;  but  his  good  lady  gave  me  such  an  account  of 
things,  that  but  for  this  young  gentleman,  I  should  have 
made  no  further  effort." 

"  Ay,  ay,  Sam  knew  well  enough,  the  young  rogue,  who 
to  come  to :  but  dear  me,  you  look  like  a  lad  that  has  seen 
fair  weather  and  easy  work ;  do  you  know  what  kind  of  a 
place  you've  come  to  ?" 

"  Only  what  I  have  seen  of  it  this  morning,  sir ;  and  Mrs. 
Brown  said  that  she  thought  a  teacher  was  much  needed." 

"  Ay,  that  she  might  well  say,  much  needed ;  that  is  if 
you  can  teach  them  any  better  manners  than  they've  got  now  : 
they're  a  hard  case,  my  dear  young  man,  most  gone  to  the 
old  boy,  altogether." 

Mr.  Tracy  smiled.  "  I  hope  not  quite  so  bad  as  that, 
sir." 

"  Not  much  short  on  it,  I  tell  you :  but  things  look  a 
little  better  than  they  have,  and  I  aint  sure  but  a  considera 
ble  lot  on  'em  might  be  got  together ;  that  is,  the  boys,  I 
mean,  but" — and  the  old  man  regarded  his  young  visitor  with 
a  very  inquisitive  countenance. — "  you  don't  look  as  if  you 
could  live  on  clam  shells  and  oyster  shells,  and  eels,  and 
sich  like ;  I'm  afear'd  you  aint  used  to  them." 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,  I  can  eat  what  the  rest  of  you  do ;  and 
perhaps  sometimes  your  shells  have  some  little  picking  in 
side  of  them,  if  I  may  judge  from  the  appearance  of  some  of 
the  good  people  here." 

"  Ah,  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  my  young  friend,  you  can't 
judge  always  from  the  looks,  what  kind  of  fare  a  man  has 
but  howsomever,  if  you  can  get  along  with  such  things  as 
I've  tell'd  you  of,  why  you  won't  starve,  for  you  see  we've 
got  plenty  on  'em ;  and  as  to  the  boys,  do  you,  Sam  Oakum, 
up  and  tell  the  gentleman  what  you  know  about  it,  and  not 
stand  stretching  your  mouth  and  grinnin'  at  me." 

Sam  soon  numbered  quite  a  company  of  boys,  and  girls 
too,  that  he  knew  would  be  very  glad  of  a  chance  for  school 
ing,  and  many  more  that  would  no  doubt  come  if  the  gon tie- 
man  "  would  only  make  a  beginning  and  open  a  school." 

As  Henry  Tracy  had  perhaps  full  as  much  desire  to  do 
good,  as  to  receive  compensation  for  his  labors,  seeing  the 
strong  desire  manifested  by  Sam,  and  hearing  him  tell  how 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  143 

very  anxious  some  of  his  companions  were  to  learn  some 
thing,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  try  the  experiment. 

Sam  was  almost  beside  himself  for  joy ;  it  was  the  only 
one  thing  now  wanting  in  his  cup  of  happiness.  His  defi 
ciency  in  every  kind  of  knowledge  acquired  from  books,  was 
felt  by  him  daily  as  a  sore  evil.  ';  If  he  could  only  read  and 
write  and  calculate  like  Jim  Montjoy,"  was  for  ever  coming 
into  his  mind,  a  wish  unalloyed  by  envy  or  any  other  evil 
feeling  towards  Jim,  but  filling  his  heart  with  sadness.  Old 
Sam  Cutter  was  no  less  rejoiced,  for  his  boys  were  but  little 
in  advance  of  Sam  Oakum,  and  now  that  they  had  taken 
such  a  favorable  turn  in  their  course  of  conduct,  the  old  man 
felt  that  a  school  would  be  a  crowning  mercy.  Some  little 
difficulty  presented  itself  as  to  where  the  teacher  should  take 
up  his  abode  ;  there  were  good  reasons  why  Mr.  Cutter  could 
not  offer  a  residence  under  his  own  roof;  the  house  was  but 
small,  too  small,  he  found,  for  himself,  sometimes,  and  he 
durst  not  venture  upon  an  addition. 

Sam  Oakum  would  have  rejoiced  could  his  home  have 
afforded  accommodations  such  as  he  might  ask  a  stranger  to 
partake  of,  and  a  person  of  Mr.  Tracy's  appearance.  Mrs. 
Montjoy 's  was  the  only  place  that  Sam  could  think  of  where 
any  thing  like  comfort  could  be  had. 

"  I  know — I  know  all  that,  Sam ;  Mrs.  Montjoy  is  a  nice 
woman,  and  the  house,  though  small,  is  tidy-like,  and  the 
boys  are  good  fellows,  a  credit  to  the  place ;  but  you  see, 
Sammy,  we  must  '  be  wise  as  sarpents '  about  this  business. 
You  know  how  the  folks  feel,  full  of  their  jealousies  and  non 
sense  ;  and  if  the  teacher  should  go  there,  they  would  say 
that  he  felt  himself  above  folks,  that  he  was  too  good  for 
the  like  of  them,  and  all  that,  and  you  see,"  looking  at  Mr. 
Tracy,  "  we've  got  to  take  folks  as  they  are,  and  make  the  best 
on  'em."  And  then  turning  his  eye  towards  Sam,  "  The 
Widow  Andrews'  is  the  place.  Bill,  you  know,  is  gone  ;  sorry 
for  that,  but  he's  gone,  and  no  help  for  it ;  the  old  woman  is 
queer,  but  where  is  one  on  'em  that  aint,  sometimes  ?  Yet 
she  is  pretty  good  in  the  main,  and  she'll  be  proud  to  do  her 
best ;  and  if  the  gentleman  won't  be  frightened  at  a  little 
squall  once  in  a  while,  he'll  git  along  pretty  comfortable 
there  :  now,  don't  you  think  so,  Sammy  ?" 

Sam  thought  just  as  Mr.  Cutter  did ;  and  as  Mr.  Tracy 
was  not  particular  as  to  accommodations,  provided  they  were 


JAMES    MONTJOY  .'     OR, 


cleanly  and  he  could  have  a  room  to  himself,  it  was  accord 
ingly  decided  that  he  should  accompany  Sam  there,  and  see 
what  could  be  done  There  was  nothing  very  inviting  in 
the  appearance  of  things,  to  one  who  had  been  accustomed 
to  a  very  different  style  of  living :  the  house  was  a  one-story 
building,  placed  very  flat  on  the  ground  ;  both  the  roof  and 
the  sides  were  covered  with  shingles.  Moss  had  accumulat 
ed  so  as  to  contend  with  the  shingles  for  the  precedence,  and 
if  the  latter  did  the  most  good,  the  former  was  the  most  dis 
tinctly  to  be  seen.  But  it  was  situated  in  the  midst  of  a 
green  grassplot,  and  the  grass  was  short  and  velvety  to  the 
tread,  and  a  few  old  cedar  trees  surrounded  it,  which  tended 
to  screen  its  imperfections  and  make  it  pass  for  full  as  much 
as  it  deserved.  A  fence  ran  before  it,  much  dilapidated,  suffi 
cient,  however,  to  keep  out  the  larger  animals,  while  the  geese 
walked  back  and  forth,  cropped  the  grass  short,  and  gabbled 
close  under  the  window. 

The  widow  was  evidently  flattered  with  the  proposal,  only 
she  feared  '•  the  gentleman  might  find  their  living  very  dif 
ferent  from  what  he  had  been  used  to." 

Mr.  Tracy  was  satisfied,  from  the  appearance  of  things 
within  doors,  that  neatness  was  one  trait  which  the  widow 
certainly  had,  whatever  others  he  might  discover  on  further 
acquaintance.  She  showed  him  her  best  room,  and  which 
she  was  perfectly  willing  to  yield  up  to  his  use.  It  was 
large  enough,  with  an  agreeable  view  of  the  surrounding 
country,  and  Henry  thought  when  he  should  get  his  books 
around  him,  he  could  make  himself  at  home. 

Mr.  Cutter  would  have  been  glad  to  introduce  the  young 
man  to  Billy  Bloodgood,  but  he  dared  not  undertake  the 
task,  and  suffered  Billy  to  hammer  away,  and  took  no  notice 
of  the  inquisitive  glances  which  his  good  neighbor  kept  cast 
ing  towards  him.  As  soon,  however,  as  the  visitor  had  de 
parted,  still  holding  the  hammer  and  tongs,  he  made  up  to 
Mr.  Cutter,  and  putting  his  head  close  to  his  ear,  hallooed  in 
a  voice  almost  sufficient  to  have  made  the  sound  reach  his 
own  tympanum, 

"Who's  that?" 

"  I  aint  deaf ;  you  needn't  holler  at  that  rate  into  a 
man." 

"  Who  did  you  say  ?  I  didn't  hear  you." 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  145 

"  Dear  me,  what  shall  I  do  ?  I'm  all  out  of  breath  a 
talkin'  to  that  youngster.'1 

"  Don't  hear." 

Uncle  Sam  made  a  desperate  effort,  opened  his  mouth, 
drew  in  a  long  breath,  put  his  hand  up  to  form  a  trumpet, 
and  applying  the  machinery  as  near  as  possible  to  Billy's 
head,  called  out, 

"  He's  a  teacher." 

"  A  preacher  ?"  and  Billy  nodded  and  smiled ;  "  that's 
good :  going  to  stay  here  ?" 

"  Bless  my  soul,  what  shall  I  do  ?  I  shan't  try  agin',  no 
how." 

"  Sally  '11  be  glad  to  hear  that ;  where  is  he  from  ?" 

Uncle  Sam  looked  first  one  way,  and  then  the  other,  as 
though  meditating  an  escape ;  but  he  hated  to  move,  and  in 
fact  he  knew  there  would  be  little  use  in  trying  it,  for  Billy 
would  be  after  him ;  so  he  finally  cast  an  imploring  eye  up 
to  his  neighbor,  who  was  stooping  down  and  looking  very  in 
quiringly  into  his  face. 

£i  Bless  my  soul.  I  aint  got  no  breath  to  do  it." 

Billy  shook  his  head. 

'•  Don't  hear." 

"  No,  nor  you  won't  if  the  sound  has  got  to  come  out  of 
me  ;  it  can't  be  done." 

<;  Don't  hear  what  you  say ;  speak  a  little  louder." 

"  I  don't  know."  Old  Sam  made  noise  enough  this  time, 
and  if  it  could  have  been  concentrated  might  have  gone  to 
the  place,  but  Billy  had  heard  something,  so  he  nodded  his 
head. 

"  From  below  1  what  place  ?  any  where  near  by  ?" 

"  Dear,  dear,  he'll  be  the  death  of  me  !"  Uncle  Sam 
was  indeed  in  a  bad  case  ;  he  had  at  no  time  any  breath  to 
spare,  and  to  be  called  upon  to  expend  it,  first  in  working 
with  the  big  hammer,  and  then  in  blowing  trumpets,  was  a 
little  more  than  his  good-nature  could  stand.  He  was  very 
red  in  the  face,  breathed  short  and  heavy,  and  with  his  old 
straw  hat  flapping  violently  to  catch  fresh  supplies  of  air. 
looked  wildly  about  for  some  loophole  whereby  to  creep  out 
from  this  dilemma.  Just  at  that  moment,  and  as  Billy  was 
again  upon  the  point  of  asking  for  more  light  on  the  obscu 
rity  of  the  last  sound  that  reached  him,  the  shop  door  was 
darkened  by  the  entrance  of  no  less  a  personage  than  Sally 
7 


146  JAMES    MONTJOY  I     OR, 


Bloodgood  herself.  She  came  in  so  rapidly,  that  she  was 
nigh  being  foul  of  Uncle  Sam  ;  as  it  was,  she  only  impeded 
the  motion  of  the  old  hat .  She  was  not  at  all-  in  a  visiting 
dress,  having  come,  as  she  said,  "just  as  she  was.11  to  ^ee  her 
neighbor  Mrs.  Cutter  for  a  minute.  "  But  do,  la,  Uncle  Sam, 
what  ails  you  ?  your  face  is  as  red  as  a  turkey's  comb.  You 
seem  to  be  all  blowed  out.  It's  Bloodgood,  I  know  it  is. 
He's  been  asking  you  questions,  I  know  he  has.  You  hadn't 
ought  to  try  to  talk  to  him,  Uncle  Sam,  it's  enough  to  kill 
you." 

"  I  believe  you,"  turning  his  eyes  up  at  her  very  expres 
sively;  "you're  right  there,  Sally." 

Billy  Bloodgood  now  engrossed  his  wife's  attention,  by 
telling  her  the  great  news,  "  that  there  was  a  preacher  come, 
a  nice-looking  young  man." 

Mrs.  Bloodgood  looked  at  Mr.  Cutter  for  an  explanation. 

"  Do  tell,  Uncle  Sam,  was  he  a  very  youngerly  man,  very 
%fine  and  delicate  like  ?" 

Mr.  Cutter  nodded  assent. 

"  La  me,  I  wonder  if  it's  the  same  one  that  called  to  see 
Bloodgood,  this  mornin'.  A  preacher? — who  upon  airth 
would  have  thought  it  ?  he  never  said  nothln'  about  preach- 
in'." 

Mrs.  Bloodgood  had  her  own  reasons  for  being  so  sur 
prised  ;  and  as  Uncle  Sam  Cutter  saw  clearly  that  her 
thoughts  were  very  much  troubled  about  the  matter,  he 
came  to  the  conclusion  to  let  her  enjoy  her  mistake : 

"  It  will  teach  her,  may  be,  to  be  a  little  more  careful  of 
her  tongue." 

But,  as  Billy  Bloodgood  was  the  principal  man  to  whom 
Mr.  Cutter  looked  for  aid  in  sustaining  and  encouraging  the 
young  man,  the  fact  that  he  wished  to  teach  a  school  among 
them,  must  be  communicated  to  him.  Utterly  hopeless  of 
any  power  in  himself  to  do  the  thing,  he,  without  any  cere 
mony,  took  hold  of  the  loose  covering  which  hung  about  the 
person  of  the  lady,  and  fairly  forcing  her  down  upon  a  rough 
seat,  near  himself, 

"  Now  you  see,  woman,  T  give  it  clean  up  ;  I  shan't  never 
try  no  more  to  drive  a  word  into  Billy's  head.  I  can't  do  it, 
— it  will  kill  me." 

"  'Tis  hard  work,  Uncle  Sam,  aint  it  ?  it  takes  such  a 
power  of  wind.  But  you  see  somebody's  got  to  make  him 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  147 

hear,  and  I  'spose  it's  my  lot ;  and  what  a  body's  got  to  do, 
you  know,  Uncle  Sam,  why,  they  must  submit  to  it :  but  it 
takes  my  breath  clean  away  sometimes,  and  makes  me  so  faint 
and  gone,  that  I  can't  hardly  hold  myself  together."  And 
the  good  woman,  pressing  her  hands  very  hard  against  her 
sides,  exhibited  to  Uncle  Sam  the  desperate  efforts  she  had 
to  make,  at  times',  to  keep  things  in  their  place. 

Billy  stood  close  by,  with  one  hand  on  Uncle  Sam's 
shoulder,  looking  very  complacently  at  his  wife,  and  nodding 
every  once  in  a  while,  as  though  he  understood  perfectly 
what  she  was  saying. 

"  Fine-looking  young  man  ;  smart,  I  guess."  And  then 
stooping  over,  and  looking  into  Mr.  Cutter's  faca,  ':  You  didn't 
tell  me  what  place  he  came  from." 

"Where  is  it,  Uncle  Sam?  jist  tell  me,  and  I'll  make 
him  hear,  I'll  warrant." 

"  Bless  your  soul,  Sally,  I  don't  know  where  he's  come 
from.  No  doubt  Heaven  has  sent  him  from  somewhere  or 
another,  and  I  don't  much  care.  I  am  so  glad  to  see  any 
thing  in  a  decent  shape  come  to  do  a  little  good  among  us  : 
he  may  have  dropped  right  down,  for  all  I  know." 

"  Do,  la,  Uncle  Sam,  how  you  talk  ;  you're  enough  to 
frighten  a  body.  But  I  must  tell  Bloodgood  somethin'  or 
another."  So,  raising  herself  a  little,  putting  one  hand  on 
each  knee,  and  placing  her  prominent  member  close  to  her 
husband's  ear,  who  was  still  bending  down  and  looking  ear 
nestly  at  Mr.  Cutter,  she  was  about  to  give  one  of  her  blasts, 
when  she  was  suddenly  arrested  by  the  powerful  hand  of  the 
latter. 

"  Stop,  Sally,  stop  ! — not  now :  none  of  your  hollering 
here,  I  can't  stand  it.  Wait  till  you  git  home,  and  then  you 
can  tell  Billy  all  about  it." 

Billy,  finding  that  there  was  a  sudden  interruption  to  all 
correspondence  for  some  cause  he  could  not  well  define,  and 
being  accustomed  to  such  events,  put  a  stop  to  his  inquiries 
for  the  present. 

How  vast  a  change  of  feeling  is  sometimes  effected  by  the 
passing  away  of  sunlight,  with  the  bustle  of  its  busy  hours 
and  the  silent  shades  of  evening  ! 

Henry  Tracy  had  made  a  busy  day  of  it ;  he  had  met 
with  unexpected  success  in  engaging  scholars,  and  had  pro 
cured  a  room  in  a  building,  once  used  as  a  court-house,  in 


148  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

which  to  hold  his  school.  Gratified  with  his  prospects,  he 
sat  down  to  the  clean  supper  table  with  the  widow  Andrews 
and  her  daughter,  with  feelings  much  more  buoyant  than 
could  have  been  expected  in  one  so  young,  for  the  first 
time  a  sojourner  among  strangers.  He  delighted  them  by 
the  ease  and  pleasantness  of  his  manners,  so  that  when  he 
retired,  which  he  did  soon  after  supper,  the  old  lady  looked 
at  her  daughter,  and  lifting  her  hands  in  expression  of  her 
admiration — 

"Who  could  ever  ha'  thought  of  it?  Why  it's  jist  as 
easy  talkin'  to  him  as  to  Uncle  Sam  Cutter." 

"  Oh,  Ma  !  it's  as  easy  agin'." 

The  moon  was  in  all  her  splendor,  and  her  pale  rays  fell 
trembling  through  the  foliage  of  the  cottage.  Taking  a  seat 
by  the  window,  Henry  looked  out  upon  the  beautiful  night, 
and  his  heart  filled  with  emotions,  to  which  he  had  hitherto 
been  a  stranger. 

Home,  that  idea  so  satisfying  to  the  soul,  that  spot  to 
which  our  wishes  fly,  when  in  sickness  or  sorrow,  was  nought 
to  him  now  but  the  resting-place  of  his  past  joys  and  trials, — a 
beautiful  vision  that  had  left  an  impress  on  his  heart,  which 
time  could  not  obliterate ; — although  like  a  vision  it  had 
passed  away,  his  bosom  heaved  with  the  swelling  thoughts 
that  rolled  like  ocean  waves  heavier  and  mightier  in  upon 
him.  He  drew  from  his  breast  a  golden  locket,  and  unclasp 
ing  it,  held  the  miniature  it  inclosed  beneath  the  rays  of  the 
moon ;  his  lips  trembled,  as  the  sacred  name  of  "  mother" 
broke  from  them.  "  Yes,  I  will  ever  think  of  thee,  thou 
guardian  angel  of  my  life ;  thy  sweet  love  has  made  my  home 
a  paradise,  and  thy  pure  piety  and  gentle  counsels  have  won 
me  to  the  path  of  peace.  My  Saviour's  image -hast  thou  ever 
borne  before  me,  until  my  heart  has  learned  to  love  him  as 
my  best  and  dearest  friend.  Oh,  may  my  life  be  such  as 
thy  last  dying  prayer  entreated  it  might  be,  or  as  thy  pure 
spirit,  if  it  looks  upon  thy  son  from  its  blest  home  above, 
can  rejoice  in,  as  the  way  that  leads  to  where  thou  art." 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  149 


CHAPTER  XI. 

IT  was  a  very  bright  to-morrow  in  Ned's  imagination,  as 
he  lay  down  to  rest,  for  then  he  was  to  accompany  Jim  and 
Sam,  and  was  to  see  the  fort,  and  old  Peter  and  Major  Morris, 
and  perhaps  little  Susie  too  ;  and  the  new  plan  of  Jim's  was 
the  object  of  their  errand.  If  the  day  in  Ned's  imagination 
was  brighter  than  the  one  which  actually  dawned  upon  them, 
it  must  have  been  a  beauty  indeed.  The  sky.  the  water,  and 
the  land  opened  in  loveliness  ;  the  bright  blue  above  was  re 
flected  from  the  glassy  water,  and  the  golden  beams,  that 
poured  in  full  glory  from  the  east,  were  thrown  back  by  the 
fading  forest  in  all  variety  of  colors.  This  was  to  Ned  a 
holiday  indeed,  and  his  active  spirit  enjoyed  it  to  the  full ; 
faithfully  had  he  toiled  through  the  long  summer  days,  nor 
even  thought  of  relaxation.  Now,  the  summer  labors  over, 
sweet  was  the  rest  and  exhilarating  the  prospect  of  new 
scenes  and  faces,  which,  with  that  morning's  dawn,  came 
playing  before  his  view. 

Major  Morris  was  not  a  little  pleased,  as  he  listened  to 
Jim's  simple  exposition  of  the  plan  he  had  in  view ;  his 
generous  heart  rejoiced  to  know  that  what  he  had  already 
done  to  aid  and  stimulate  these  youths,  had  turned  to  so  good 
account. 

"  And  you  say  that  you  have  laid  by  one  hundred  dollars 
from  your  trading  with  me  this  summer,  and  so  you  be 
gin  to  despise  your  old  business?  You  wish  to  find  some 
easier  way  to  make  a  hundred  dollars  ?  Ay,  ay — like  all 
the  rest  of  us." 

"  Oh,  no,  sir — no,  sir ;  we  do  not  think  of  giving  up  our 
garden  ;  we  expect  to  work  at  that  the  same  as  ever." 

And  then  Jim  explained  how  he  intended  to  manage, 
which  convinced  Major  Morris  that  the  scheme  was  not  only 
well  laid,  but  included  much  closer  attention  to  their  work 
than  heretofore.  He  looked  at  the  boys  with  deep  interest; 
the  smile,  which  had  played  around  his  lips  while  speaking 
to  them,  passed  away,  and  his  keen  black  eye  turned  from 
one  to  the  other,  as  though  scrutinizing  their  very  spirits. 
Sam's  honest  eye,  as  black  as  the  one  which  was  fixed  on 
him,  twinkled  and  turned  aside,  as  the  Major,  after  survey- 


150  JAMES   MONTJOY  J     OR, 

ing  the  brothers,  rested  his  gaze  on  him.  What  he  saw  in 
Sam,  or  what  strange  visions  passed  before  him,  wherein 
poor  Sam  acted  a  conspicuous  part,  may  one  day  be  revealed. 
A  sigh  at  last  broke  the  spell ;  he  turned  towards  Jim. 

"  Your  plan,  my  good  fellow,  is  one  which  meets  my  ap 
probation,  and  any  thing  I  can  do  to  assist  you  in  it,  I  will 
do  with  pleasure ;  but  you  know  from  past  dealing  with  me, 
that  my  efforts  will  be  merely  directed  so  as  to  enable  you 
to  help  yourselves." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  sir.  I  thought  your  judgment  would 
be  safe  for  us  to  follow,  and  that  perhaps  you  could  give  me 
some  directions  as  to  purchases,  and  therefore  I  have  taken 
this  liberty  " 

"  Your  plan  of  setting  up  a  small  store  is  a  good  one,  on 
many  accounts :  but  you  must  bear  m  mind,  that  great  at 
tention  will  be  required,  both  in  purchasing  and  selling. 
You  will  be  in  danger  of  losing  some  of  your  profits  by 
waste  in  retailing  ;  you  will  also  be  in  danger  of  losing  goods 
and  profits  too,  by  selling  to  those  who  will  never  pay  you ; 
and  you  will  run  some  risk  in  the  transportation  of  your  goods, 
or  of  your  money,  so  far  by  water,  although  this  latter  risk 
can  be  guarded  against.  What  I  would  say  to  you  then  is, 
that  this  business,  although  small  at  first,  will  require  the 
most  strict  attention,  in  all  its  details  ;  and  I  would  also  say 
another  thing,  if  I  did  not  fully  believe  that  all  of  you  have 
been  trained  to  those  correct  principles,  without  which  no 
man  can  or  ought  to  rise  to  honor  or  prosperity. 

"  I  can  assist  you  by  introducing  you  to  a  house  in  the 
city,  where  you  will  be  well  dealt  with  ;  and  as  our  boat  sails 
to-morrow  morning,  you  had  better  remain  here,  and  I  will 
accompany  you." 

Ned  was  ready  for  a  caper  ;  he  looked  at  Sam,  and  rub 
bed  his  hands  together  very  fast.  Sam  shook  his  head,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  Be  quiet,  Ned." 

Jim  blushed,  looked  at  the  boys,  and  then  up  at  Major 
Morris. 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  for  your  kind  offer ;  but  having  no 
idea  of  being  able  to  do  any  thing  so  soon,  have  left  my  money 
at  home." 

"  So  much  the  better,  then  there  will  be  the  less  risk ;  I 
will  arrange  for  the  payment  of  your  goods  in  the  city,  the 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  151 


same  as  if  you  had  your  money  with  you,  and  when  we  re 
turn,  you  can  settle  with  me  here." 

Jim  was  not  very  clear  about  this  matter ;  but  confiding 
in  Major  Morris,  assented  to  remain,  thanking  him  again  for 
his  kind  interest 

During  this  conversation.  Peter  stood  back  at  some  dis 
tance,  leaning  on  his  crutches,  and  chewing  a  tremendous 
quid  of  tobacco  with  great  diligence,  and  occasionally  smooth 
ing  down  the  end  of  his  queue.  Ned,  while  listening  to  the 
Major,  kept  an  eye  on  Peter,  scanning  him  from  head  to  foot. 
No  sooner  had  the  Major  withdrawn,  than  Peter  hobbled  to 
wards  the  boys,  who  were  standing  on  the  steps  by  their  boat, 
and  making  preparations  to  return  ;  he  threw  his  crutches 
down,  and  taking  a  seat  on  the  stone  coping  close  beside  the 
boat,  listened  attentively  to  Jim,  who  was  giving  directions 
to  Sain  and  Ned  about  some  small  matters  at  home,  and 
about  their  coming  for  him  on  his  return  to  the  fort. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Jim,  looking  at  Peter,  ':  that  I  shall 
be  back  here  by  about  three  o'clock  to-morrow  afternoon." 

"  Bless  your  soul !  what  kind  of  a  kalkelation  have  you 
run  foul  of  now?  you  are  out  of  your  reck'nin'  by  a  whole  day 
at  the  least.  Why  you  see,  my  hearty,  you  won't  start  from 
here  'afore  say  nine  o'clock  to-morrow  mornin' ;  with  the  wind 
aft.  or  a  little  quartering  say  she  goes  eight  knots  an  hour, 
which  is  good  sailin'  for  sich  kind  of  craft,  it  will  take  you  all 
of  four  hours  and  no  balks  to  git  to  the  landur  ;  so  you  see" 
(giving  his  head  a  bob,  and  a  corresponding  motion  to  his 
queue)  ';you  can't  be  there  'afore  one  o'clock,  no  how"  (another 
bob) :  •'  well  then,  if  the  wind  is  fair  to  carry  you  there,  you 
don't  think  it  is  goin'  to  chop  round  jist  when  you're  ready  to 
come  back,  and  blow  astern  all  the  way  home,  do  you?" — 
looking  at  Jim  again. — "No,  no;  the  wind  and  weather  don't 
care  for  nobody ;  we've  got  to  take  'em,  jist  as  it  happens, 
and  make  the  most  on  'em.  So  you  see,  you  may  jist  knock 
overboard  all  your  figurin' ;  it  won't  do  you  no  good  ;  you've 
got  to  stay,  one  night  in  the  city,  at  any  rate,  for  the  boat 
never  starts  till  the  next  mornin' ;  and  if  you've  good  luck, 
may  be  about,  three  o'clock  you'll  be  in,  and  may  be  not " 

Jim  was  rather  puzzled  to  make  out  from  Peter's  reckon 
ing  when  to  tell  the  boys  to  come  for  him  ;  but  Peter,  seeing 
him  in  doubt,  gave  his  own  directions. 

"  Here  you,  Sam,  jist  harkee ;  there  won't  be  no  need  of 


152  JAMES  MONTJOY;    OR, 

your  bein'  here  afore  day  a'ter  to-morrow ;  then  you  see, 
you  can  jist  hoist  sail,  and  come  along  easy  ;  no  hurry ;  you 
be  here  by  three  o'clock,  plenty  time  enough.  Now  you  see, 
don't  make  no  kalkelations  about  goin'  home  that  night,  'kase 
— you  hear  me  now? — sposin'  the  wind  should  take  'em  right 
dead  ahead,  they  can't  get  in  no  how  afore  six  o'clock,  and 
may  be  not  then,  and  there's  no  tellin'  when." 

Jim  found  it  a  more  serious  matter,  this  going  to  the  city, 
than  he  had  anticipated.  Peter's  experience  soon  convinced 
him  of  that ;  as  he  could  give  no  more  certain  directions  to 
Sam  than  he  had  already  received,  he  must  let  him  go  with 
what  he  had. 

The  sail  was  hoisted  ; — Peter  had  untied  the  rope,  giving 
at  the  same  time  a  sharp  good-natured  lecture  to  Sam, 
for  making  his  boat  fast  in  such  an  unsailor  like  manner. 
Sam  took  it  all  in  good  part,  for,  in  truth,  he  had  not  done 
the  thing  ;  it  was  some  of  Ned's  handiwork.  Jim  stood  on 
the  stairs,  giving  Ned  all  sorts  of  directions  and  injunctions. 

"  Yes.  yes,  Jim  ;  I'll  see  to  it,  never  you  fear." 

Off  goes  the  little  craft. 

"  Good-by,  Sam ;  good-by,  Ned.  Take  care  of  your 
selves  " 

"Good-by,  Jim." 

"  Good-by,  my  hearties  ;  haul  in  that  bow-line,  and  don't 
let  it  drag  in  that  fashion  ;  and  haul  your  peak  taut ;  you'll 
have  a  stiff  breeze,  but  she'll  bear  it.  Good  luck  to  you." 

Gently  the  boat  turned  off,  and  took  the  swelling  breeze. 
The  boys  looked  back,  to  give  a  parting  nod. 

"  Oh,  Sam,  who  is  that?  aint  she  a  beauty  though  ! — is 
that  Susie?  See,  Sam,  she  is  shaking  her  hand  to  you." 

Sam  made  no  reply ;  he  touched  his  hat  lightly,  as  he 
had  seen  Peter  do  to  the  Major. 

'•  I  tell  you  what,  Sam,  I  don't  wonder  you  jumped  into 
the  water  ;  I  would  have  jumped,  too,  if  I  had  been  here." 

"  I  wouldn't  be  looking  round  so,  Ned." 

"Mustn't  I?  Well,  I'll  look  ahead  then.  I  thought 
sister  Ellen  was  pretty — but — but — may  be  it's  the  dress 
though." 

Sam  was  in  no  talking  mood  ;  he  kept  his  eye  steadily 
fixed  on  the  sail,  which  was  swelled  finely  out,  and  making 
their  boat  skim  along  towards  home  to  his  heart's  content ; 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  153 

and  as  Ned  received  only  monosyllables  in  reply  to  his  many 
questions,  he  soon  tired  of  putting  them. 

Large  cities  have  their  evils,  and  they  are  not  few. 
Hither  the  idle  and  the  vicious  throng,  for  here  are  dens  to 
hide  them  from  the  public  gaze,  and  companions  to  uphold 
them  in  their  evil  courses,  and  finery  enough  to  glut  their 
polluted  appetite ;  but  with  the  evils,  are  many  things  that 
tend  to  bless  society.  Here  the  good  man  finds  many  kin 
dred  spirits,  too,  and  like  coals  to  burning  coals  they  kindle 
in  each  other  a  warmer  glow,  and  spread  around  them,  in  a 
wide  and  fervent  circle,  a  cheering,  healthful  influence. 
Here  busy  industry  plies  her  daily,  nightly  task,  and  meets 
with  large  reward,  and  hangs  out  her  trophies  to  the  gaze  of 
the  vast  multitude,  urging  them  on  to  diligence :  here 
wealth  erects  her  glittering  palace ;  and  here  the  darkest 
den  of  poverty  is  found.  Here  emulation  and  sympathy 
have  each  objects  of  heart-thrilling  interest,  sufficient  to 
awaken  all  the  energies  of  the  jostling  throng.  Deeds  of 
charity,  which  make  us  proud  of  our  species,  are  here  origi 
nated  and  carried  into  execution : — and  here,  too,  deeds  of 
horror  are  enacted,  that  make  us  feel  how  like  the  very 
fiends  of  hell  sometimes  is  man. 

Excitement,  in  all  its  various  forms,  keeps  up  a  con 
stant  whirl ;  all  feel  the  influence  for  good  or  ill,  and  onward 
all  are  pressing.  The  mind  of  man  is  tasked,  until  its  ener 
gies,  too  strongly,  constantly  impelled,  give  way,  and  then 
the  victim  droops,  and  plods  along,  and  sickens  at  the  strife, 
and  longs  to  be  at  rest. 

When  the  first  view  of  the  city  broke  upon  the  gazing 
eye  of  our  hero,  he  scarcely  knew  what  to  make  of  it.  The 
tall  spires  running  up  against  the  distant  sky ;  the  crowded 
masts  that,  like  a  wintry  forest,  lined  the  shores  ;  the  mighty 
mass  of  buildings,  heaps  on  heaps,  spreading  for  miles  on 
either  side ;  the  boats  of  various  size  and  shape  crossing  and 
recrossing,  and  sweeping  by  them  with  the  arrow's  speed ; 
and  as  they  neared  the  land,  the  busy  throng  of  people  hurry 
ing  to  and  fro  ;  the  confused  and  deafening  noise,  the  smoke 
and  dust,  the  huge  hulks,  old  ocean-travellers,  that  lay  fast 
corded  to  the  strong  stout  piles  ;  the  long  projecting  piers, 
around  whose  dark-green  slippery  base  the  turbid  waters 
swelled,  and  beat,  and  broke  ; — all,  all  were  new  to  Jim  ;  and 
in  mute  wonder  he  looked  and  thought,  until  their  little  ves- 


154  JAMES  MONTJOY;    OR, 


sel  glided  into  her  resting-place,  between  two  vast  walls  of 
docks 

';  Well.  James,  what  do  you  think  of  the  city  ?"  said 
Major  Morris,  coming  up  to  where  he  sat  in  the  bow  of  the 
boat,  and  putting  his  hand  kindly  on  his  shoulder. 

"  I  hardly  know,  sir ;  but  it  seems  a  very  busy  place." 

"  Yes,  busy  you  may  well  say ;  every  one  is  in  a  hurry 
here,  and  we  must  be  so,  too,  as  we  are  rather  late  to-day, 
and  I  fear  my  friend  will  have  left  his  store  " 

Jim  hastened  to  accompany  the  Major,  who,  already  on 
the  wharf,  was  mingling  with  the  crowd ;  it  took  him.  how 
ever,  some  little  time  to  learn  how  to  make  haste  in  a  city, 
and  not  before  he  had  received  a  few  stout  thumps  against 
some  other  hurrying  mortals,  and  a  few  harsh  curses  as  an 
awkward  country  booby ;  but  Jim  heeded  them  not.  for  the 
Major  walked  fast,  and  to  lose  sight  of  him  would  be  a  di 
lemma  indeed,  amidst  such  a  Babel.  He  twisted  this  way 
and  that,  sometimes  running  close  to  the  wall,  at  others 
jumping  off  from  the  side-walk  among  the  carts,  and  then 
quickly  back  again,  over  bales  of  cotton  tumbling  from  the 
doors ;  around  hogsheads  of  molasses,  barrels  of  flour,  pun 
cheons  of  rum,  bars  of  iron,  old  anchors,  coils  of  cable,  droves 
of  little,  ragged,  dirty  children,  huddling  about  empty  sugar 
hogsheads.  Verily  Jim  had  a  time  of  it;  he  was  not  natu 
rally  one  of  the  hurrying  sort,  'to  get  around  and  through 
all  these  obstacles,  and  to  keep  his  eye  on  the  Major,  at  the 
same  time,  required  more  activity  than  he  had  been  accus 
tomed  to  use. 

After  travelling  in  this  way,  as  Jim  fancied,  a  long  dis 
tance,  he  rejoiced  to  see  the  Major  make  a  halt,  and  enter  a 
large  store,  the  passage-way  of  which  was  blocked  up  with 
piles  of  tea-chests,  casks,  bales,  boxes,  and  men.  Jim 
squeeaed  along  behind  the  Major,  who.  opening  a  glass  door, 
entered  a  small  neat  room,  where  every  thing  was  in  perfect 
contrast  with  the  confusion  without:  a  large  double  desk 
occupied  a  considerable  portion  of  the  apartment :  it  was 
situated  between  the  two  front  windows,  and  covered  with 
fine  green  cloth ;  every  thing  upon  it  lay  in  order  ;  each 
little  paper  seemed  to  be  there  by  design.  The  windows 
were  clean,  and  the  glasses  on  the  shelf  shone  brightly,  and 
the  floor  was  covered  with  white  sand,  and  dust  and  cob 
webs  appeared  to  have  no  license  there.  At  the  desk  two 


I'VE   BEEN    THINKING.  155 

young  men  were  busily  employed  with  immense  folios,  work 
ing  away  in  silence,  occasionally  passing  a  word  with  each 
other  in  a  very  low  voice,  and  that  only  in  reference  to 
the  work  before  them.  A  spell  seemed  to  be  upon  Jim  as 
soon  as  he  entered  that  room  ;  he  had  never  felt  so  before, 
not  even  when  first  introduced  into  the  parlor  of  Mrs.  Morris ; 
every  thing  wore  the  appearance  of  so  much  exactness, 
every  thing  was  done  and  said  in  such  a  calm,  thoughtful  way, 
it  was  so  still  and  orderly,  it  seemed  to  Jim  that  matters  of 
great  moment  alone  occupied  each  mind. 

Mr.  Thomas  was  a  large  dealer ;  hundreds  of  thousands 
passed  through  his  hands  every  year,  and  his  extensive  busi 
ness  was  managed  by  him  with  perfect  ease,  because  he  had 
grown  into  it ;  unlike  too  many  of  modern  times,  who,  aim 
ing  to  catch  the  golden  shower,  involve  themselves  in  a  com 
plication  of  difficulties,  purchase  without  judgment,  and  sell 
at  random,  only  anxious  that  their  books  shall  show,  at  the 
end  of  the  year,  a  large  balance  in  their  favor,  whether  real 
ized  or  not. 

He  had  begun  in  a  small  way,  and  gradually  increased 
his  business  with  his  means ;  never  suffering  himself  to  be 
allured  by  a  tempting  speculation,  nor  to  engage  in  any  un 
dertaking  beyond  what  he  could  well  manage,  he  neither 
worried  himself  nor  his  friends.  It  was  a  busy  place,  though, 
that  store  of  his ;  from  early  dawn  until  late  at  night,  there 
was  one  continued  round  of  active  duty ;  but  extensive  as 
his  sales  were,  he  despised  not  the  most  insignificant  of  his 
customers,  bestowing  equal  attention  to  him  who  wished  to 
spend  his  hundred  dollars,  as  to  those  who  yearly  drew  from 
his  vast  storehouse  their  tens  of  thousands.  An  upright, 
manly  course  he  had  ever  pursued  ; — he  was  an  honest  dealer 
as  well  as  a  wealthy  merchant. 

Major  Morris  knew  well  the  man  into  whose  hands  he 
committed  our  young  merchant ;  and  it  required  but  a  few 
words  in  private  to  interest  Mr.  Thomas  in  his  welfare,  al 
most  as  much  as  he  had  himself  been.  The  story  of  the 
youth  immediately  took  with  him,  and  Jim's  modest  and 
intelligent  look  added  force  to  what  the  Major  had  related 
concerning  him  ;  and  then,  when  Major  Morris  left  the  office 
to  attend  to  business  of  his  own  elsewhere,  he  made  Jim  take 
a  seat  beside  him,  and  with  the  familiarity  of  a  friend,  drew 
from  his  own  lips  a  rehearsal  of  all  he  had  done,  and  what  he 


156  JAMES  MONT.IOY;   OR, 

wished  to  do ;  inquiring  into  all  the  particulars  respecting 
the  place  where  he  lived.  Jim  had  but  a  plain  and  simple 
story  to  tell ;  but  before  he  had  finished,  the  heart  of  the 
merchant  was  so  engaged  in  his  plan,  that  he  thought  of  him 
not  as  a  customer,  out  of  whom  he  might  honestly  make  a 
small  gain,  but  as  one  whom  it  would  give  him  great  plea 
sure  to  direct  and  aid.  What  a  priceless  jewel  is  integrity 
of  heart !  and  happy  is  the  youth  who.  trained  to  virtue,  goes 
forth  into  the  busy  paths  of  life  to  act  his  part.  A  mild  but 
steady  light  illuminates  his  track;  his  very  countenance  is 
radiant,  and  his  plain,  simple  speech,  which  tells  the  meaning 
of  his  heart,  wins  every  honest  ear,  and  wakes  a  chord  re 
spondent  in  each  noble  soul ; — he  needs  no  varnished  tale, 
no  flattering  words,  no  cringing  bows  ;  a  better  passport  to 
the  confidence  of  all,  he  carries  with  him  in  his  own  hon 
est  purpose. 

With  much  patience  Mr.  Thomas  made  out  a  list  of  such 
articles  as  he  thought  would  be  the  most  saleable,  and  gave 
immediate  directions  to  have  them  carefully  put  up.  He 
then  opened  to  Master  Jim  such  a  method  of  managing  busi 
ness,  that  he  felt  almost  in  a  hurry, — a  thing  Jim  was  not 
often  guilty  of, — to  start  off  and  get  to  work.  Jim  was  not 
given  to  vanity ;  he  had  never  felt  that  he  had  any  thing  to  be 
proud  of,  but  when  he  saw  the  cart  loaded  with  the  different 
articles  intended  for  him,  neatly  marked  with  his  name  and 
place  of  residence,  and  when  he  received  his  bill  made  out 
in  the  most  particular  manner,  and  receipted  by  the  clerk 
with  a  most  significant  flourish  beneath  the  signer's  name, 
and  when  Mr.  Thomas,  bowing  politely  to  him,  cordially 
shook  his  hand,  wishing  him  all  success,  and  that  he  might 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him  soon  again,  if  he  was  not  a 
little  proud,  he  was  at  least  highly  gratified,  and  would  not 
just  then  have  exchanged  his  place  and  prospects  for  any  one 
he  could  think  of. 

Sam  and  Ned,  although  somewhat  confused  by  Peter's 
directions,  had  reached  the  fort  .a  short  time  before  the  arri 
val  of  Master  Jim  with  his  little  cargo.  It  was  a  happy 
meeting  between  the  brothers,  for  they  had  never  before  been 
separated  for  a  single  night.  How  Ned  stared,  when  he  saw 
the  boxes,  and  bags,  and  barrels  with  Jim's  name  upon  them ! 
How  he  would  have  shouted,  if  he  dared,  but  Sam  was  close 
by  him. 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  157 

"  Keep  still,  Ned  ;  you  know  it  won't  do  here." 

"  But  only  to  think,  Sam,  what  a  glorious  thing  it  is  ; — 
only  think,  to  have  a  store,  and  people  buying  things,  and  all 
that ;  and  you  in  a  great  vessel  bringing  goods  to  us — hurra, 
Sam  !" 

"  Do,  for  goodness'  sake,  Ned,  stop ;  what  will  they 
think  ?" 

Sam  was  in  great  perplexity ;  he  felt  that  their  char 
acter  was  in  danger ;  but  Ned  promised  that  he  would  keep 
in,  at  any  rate  until  they  were  out  of  hearing.  Jim  was  for 
tunately  out  of  the  way,  having  gone  with  Major  Morris  into 
the  fort,  to  settle  their  business  matters.  Old  Peter,  how 
ever,  was  a  witness  of  the  scene,  and  Sam  had  great  respect 
for  Peter,  and  feared  that  he  would  be  horrified  at  Ned's 
disregard  of  the  rules  of  propriety  ;  but  the  old  man  shut  up 
one  eye,  and  screwing  his  countenance  into  a  grimace  almost 
frightful,  sat  and  shook  his  sides,  and  worked  away  at  his 
queue,  making  no  noise  whatever.  Spasm  after  spasm  came 
over  him  and  passed  away  ;  and  whenever  he  looked  at  Ned, 
off  he  would  go  again,  shaking  and  wriggling  and  pulling  at 
his  queue,  but  making  no  noise.  At  length,  beckoning  to 
Sam  to  come  near,  he  whispered, 

"  He's  full  on  it,  I  tell  you  ;"  and  then  another  screwing 
of  his  face  and  a  hearty  shake — "  he's  a  real  boy,  every  inch 
on  him.  I  only  wish  the  Major  had  a  heered  him — how 
it  come  out,  ha?"  and  then  shake,  shake,  went  the  old 
man's  sides.  Sam  however  was  greatly  rejoiced  that  the 
Major  was  not  there,  and  kept  Ned  very  busy  in  stowing 
away  the  goods  in  their  own  boat,  and  did  not  feel  quite  at 
ease,  until  they  had  left  the  fort  a  good  distance  behind 
them. 

There  was  business  enough  on  hand  now  for  all  our  boys. 
The  little  end  building  was  entered  upon  in  earnest,  and 
soon  converted  into  quite  a  respectable-looking  store,  except 
as  to  size ;  in  that  respect,  it  had  not  much  to  boast  of. 
Sam  labored  with  as  much  interest  as  either  of  them ;  and 
as  they  were  all  too  busy  to  converse  much  while  the  store 
was  in  preparation,  it  was  not  until  the  evening  of  the  second 
day  after  their  return,  that  they  could  get  a  chance  for  talk 
ing  As  the  weather  was  too  cold  now  to  meet  under  their  fa 
vorite  tree,  it  was  concluded,  for  the  future,  to  make  the  store 
their  rendezvous. 

7* 


158  JAMES  MONTJOY;    OR, 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Sam,  who  would  ever  have  thought  of 
this  six  months  ago?  It  is  a  regular  store — aint  it?  There 
are  the  shelves  and  the  counter,  and  the  barrels  and  the 
canisters,  and  the  scales,  just  as  Grizzle  has  them,  and  a 
great  deal  nicer.  But  that  little  desk  which  Jim  has  fitted 
up  so  snug  in  the  corner  there  behind  the  counter — that 
must  be  some  city  style.  I  never  saw  such  a  thing  round 
here — did  you  ?" 

"  No  ;  but  it  looks  well — don't  it  ?  and  that  green  cloth 
on  it.  Jim  means  to  have  every  thing  snug  here — -don't 
he?" 

Ned  did  not  reply,  for  Jim  entered  just  then,  and  look 
ing  round  with  a  smile,  took  his  seat  opposite  to  them. 

"  Now,  Jim,  tell  us  all  about  your  trip,  and  what  you 
saw,  and  how  you  managed,  and  where  you  bought  the  things, 
and  all  about  it." 

"  Oh,  Ned  ;  I  cannot  tell  you  half  that  I  witnessed  in  that 
great  city.  You  must  go  there  yourself  one  of  these  days  ; 
it  is  a  great  place,  and  every  one  is  busy,  and  all  seem  to  be 
in  a  hurry  to  get  along,  as  though  they  had  something  to  do 
that  must  be  done  at  once.  It  was  as  much  as  /could  do 
to  get  through  the  streets  ;  but  the  gentleman  to  whom  Ma 
jor  Morris  introduced  me,  treated  me  very  kindly,  and  told 
me  how  we  must  manage :  said  he,  '  You  will  find  that  the 
people  in  your  place  have  got  very  little  money  (which  you 
know,  boys,  is  true),  and  if  they  can  only  buy  for  money, 
you  will  be  able  to  sell  very  little.  Now  you  must  do  this : 
you  must  offer  to  take  from  them  any  thing  they  have  for 
sale — butter,  eggs,  yarn,  wood — no  matter  what,  in  pay 
ment  for  whatever  they  want  to  buy  of  you.'  " 

"  We  should  be  in  a  fine  fix  then,  Jim  ;  what  should  we 
do  with  all  the  stuff — they  would  only  take  a  small  part  at 
the  fort,  you  know." 

"  Just  wait,  Ned,  and  you  shall  hear.  '  All  these  things,' 
said  he,  '  are  wanted  in  the  city,  and  are  as  good  here  as 
money.  As  soon  as  you  get  a  supply  of  this  kind  of  pro 
duce,  load  up  your  vessel  and  bring  it  to  me ;  I  will  either 
take  it  of  you  or  dispose  of  it.  You  can  get  more  for  it 
here  than  it  is  worth  with  you,  and  so  you  can  make  a  profit 
both  ways '  " 

"  Oh,  Sam,  did  you  ever  hear  the  like  ?" 

"  But  just  wait  awhile,  Ned.     He  said  also, '  that  as  soon 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  159 

as  the  people  here  found  that  they  could  purchase  goods  of 
us  cheaper  than  they  had  been  accustomed  to,  and  get  a 
larger  price  for  their  produce  than  they  had  ever  received, 
which  you  will  be  able  to  do  by  trading  here,  you  will  not 
only  get  all  the  business  of  the  place,  but  they  will  be  stimu 
lated  to  raise  a  great  deal  more,  and  so  every  year  you  will 
find  your  trade  increasing ;'  and  he  said,  '  before  two  years, 
you  will  require  a  large  sloop  to  do  your  carrying  business.'  " 

K  Just  hear  that,  Sam — hurra  !" 

"  Now,  Ned,  keep  quiet ;  it  is  not  accomplished  yet ; 
and  things  may  not  work  just  as  Mr.  Thomas  thinks  they 
will." 

"  Oh,  but  I  say,  Jim,  it  will  work — I  know  it  will — • 
hurra  !  Only  to  think  of  it — a  large  sloop  in  two  years — 
hurra  !  Why  don't  you  hurra,  Sam  ?  You  will  be  captain 
of  her — you  know  you  will." 

,  '•  I  could  hurra,  Ned,  if  it  would  do  any  good,  for  I  feel 
as  glad  as  you  do  ;  but  it  is  not  always  best  to  make  a  noise 
about  it." 

Sam  had  not  forgotten  the  alarm  he  had  received  from 
Ned's  shouting  a  few  days  back. 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  what  you  and  Jim  are  made  of : 
where's  the  use  of  any  thing  good,  if  a  body  can't  let  it  out  a 
little  ?" 

Jim  soon  got  Ned  back  to  real  business,  by  asking  him 
to  read  over  the  bill  of  goods,  and  call  off  the  articles,  while 
he  and  Sam  examined  them,  and  placed  them  away  in  readi 
ness  for  use. 

We  must  now  leave  our  boys,  for  a  time,  to  try  their 
new  experiment,  in  order  that  we  may  bring  forward  the 
other  parts  of  our  story. 


CHAPTER  XL 

HENRY  TRACY  found  himself  surrounded  by  not  only  a 
large  number  of  scholars,  but  such  as  listened  to  him  with 
the  strictest  attention,  and  applied  themselves  to  their  tasks 
with  unusual  diligence.  It  was.  however,  to  him  a  sad  sight, 


160  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

to  behold  so  many  of  them,  and  some  almost  his  own  age, 
commencing  the  first  principles  of  education.  The  labors 
which  devolved  upon  him  were  arduous,  but  the  more  he 
found  to  do,  the  greater  was  the  interest  he  took,  and  the 
more  untiring  his  zeal  for  their  benefit.  He  walked  amid 
his  little  community  with  no  lordly  air ;  great  indeed  was 
the  disparity  between  his  attainments  and  those  of  his 
pupils,  but  he  felt  it  not,  or  felt  it  only  to  humble  himself 
before  God,  that  so  superior  had  been  his  advantages. 

His  power  over  there  was  unbounded.  An  influence  had 
been  gradually  stealing  over  their  minds,  which  caused  them 
to  listen  to  his  instructions  as  though  he  was  a  messenger 
from  heaven.  It  proceeded  from  the  combined  power  of  re 
ligion,  intelligence,  and  refinement.  He  had,  on  opening  his 
school,  gathered  them  around  him  in  solemn  act  of  worship, 
and  every  day,  morning  and  evening,  he  publicly  commend 
ed  himself  and  them  to  God,  and  poured  out  from  his  feeling 
heart  such  warm  petitions  for  them  all,  that  many  a  hard 
and  careless  youth  would  wipe  away  the  starting  tear,  al 
though  he  could  not  tell  why  that  tear  had  come.  And  then 
through  all  the  day  he  ministered  to  their  intellectual  wants, 
with  so  much  kindness  in  his  manner, and  so  efficiently  too; 
he  threw  around  his  person  such  a  charm  by  his  gentle 
manly  deportment,  treating  them  with  the  same  respect  that 
he  wished  to  be  observed  towards  himself,  that  the  most  ob 
durate  were  soon  softened.  No  harsh  words  ever  escaped 
him,  even  when  their  improprieties  affected  him  the  most 
keenly ;  nothing  but  the  expression  of  sorrow  or  surprise, 
brought  out  in  that  delicate  manner,  in  tones  low  and  touch 
ing,  which  seldom  failed  to  start  the  blush  on  the  cheek  of 
the  delinquent,  and  check  at  once  whatever  was  wrong. 
Slowly,  too,  but  most  effectually,  an  influence  was  stealing 
over  the  parents.  It  arose  from  the  deep  respect  which  they 
saw  their  children  felt  for  their  teacher  :  it  flashed  upon 
them  as  they  met  him  in  his  daily  walks  ;  his  lowly  reverence, 
his  pleasant  smile,  and  his  soft  clear  voice  affected  them,  they 
knew  not  why  :  and  it  wrapped  itself  around  their  hearts, 
when  he  called  upon  them  to  spend  a  social  hour,  or  sup  at 
their  plain  board  There  was  no  letting  down  of  his  own 
better  manners,  no  seeming  condescension  to  their  ignorance ; 
he  conversed  with  them  as  his  equals,  and  poured  forth  the 
thoughts  which  were  uppermost  in  his  mind,  in  as  good  Ian- 


I'VE   BEKN   THINKING.  161 


guage  as  he  could  command  ;  and  he  ever  left  an  impression 
of  his  mental  power  and  moral  worth  that  made  them  think 
and  talk  of  him  when  he  was  gone,  and  wish  that  their  chil 
dren  at  least  might  be  like  him. 

The  error  which  good  Mrs.  Bloodgood  had  fallen  into  in 
regard  to  the  calling  of  the  young  man,  was  soon  cleared  up, 
but  not  until  she  was,  herself,  won  to  him ;  and  as  she  could 
not  got  rid  of  some  troublesome  remembrances  of  their  first 
interview,  she  took  the  greater  pains  to  trumpet  abroad  con 
tinually,  her  good  thoughts  concerning  him  now. 

'•  Of  all  the  men  that  ever  I  sot  my  eyes  on,  he's  the 
beat ;  he's  an  angel  on  airth  ;  he's  clean  too  good  for  it,  don't 
you  think  so,  Aunt  Sally  Cutter?" 

"Why  I  don't  know,  Sally,"  and  the  old  lady  straighten 
ed  herself  up  and  pushed  her  spectacles  further  on  her  nose  ; 
"  men  is  men,  and  there  aint  much  angel  about  'ern.  as  ever  I 
seed  ;  but  I  'spose  he's  as  good  as  most  on  'em  ;  but  they  are 
all  clean  took  with  him,  and  what  do  you  think  ?"  stretching 
her  long  arm  out,  and  raising  it  over  her  head  ;  "  Cutter  has 
taken  it  into  his  head  now,  that,  preacher  or  no  preacher,  he 
means  to  have  him  hold  some  kind  of  a  meetin'  or  other,  and 
he's  gone  this  very  blessed  day  with  the  old  mare  to  the 
Widow  Andrews'  to  see  him  about  it." 

"  Do  tell,  Aunt  Sally,  it  aint  true  ?  has  Uncle  Sam  gone, 
though  ?  Well  that's  jist  what  Bloodgood's  been  talkin' 
on  ;  he'll  be  so  glad ;  but,  poor  soul,  what  good  will  it  do 
him  ?" 

It  was  indeed  true ;  Uncle  Sam  Cutter  had  been  long 
impressed  with  a  sense  of  the  need  there  was  for  some  public 
religious  services  ;  he  had  in  his  youth  been  accustomed  to 
mingle  with  those  that  kept  "  holy  day," — he  had  gone  to 
the  house  of  God  with  the  multitude,  and  he  had  never  lost 
the  savor  of  those  solemn  seasons  ;  the  remembrance  came 
over  him  as  he  toiled  in  his  shop  or  sat  by  his  door  in  the 
deep  shades  of  evening;  he  mourned  in  secret  that  he  had 
ever  pitched  his  tent  in  Sodom.  Oh  !  how  he  longed  once 
again  to  hear  the  peal  of  the  church-bell,  calling  the  wor 
shippers  to  the  house  of  God ;  but  he  was  now  too  old  to 
remove  to  strange  places,  or  do  much  towards  obtaining  such 
privileges  as  he  felt  were  needed;  and  yet  to  think  of  leaving 
his  family  in  such  a  moral  waste,  without  some  effort  to  rem 
edy  matters,  he  could  not.  He  had  listened  attentively  to 


162  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 


all  that  his  boys  told  at  home,  about  the  teacher,  and  he 
thought  what  a  pity  it  was  that  some  of  the  older  sinners 
could  not  have  the  benefit  of  his  prayers  and  instructions. 
"  We  all  need  it  bad  enough,"  he  said  to  himself  one  day, 
as  he  sat  on  his  old  block  by  the  shop  door,  "  bad  enough, 
bad  enough.  Oh  dear  me !  to  think  what  a  heathen  set  we 
are,  goin'  whip  and  cut  to  the  old  boy,  and  nobody  to  say 
whoa  to  us,  no  more  than  if  we  were  fat  sheep  goiu'  to  the 
slaughter-house."  With  that  the  old  man  began  to  fan  him 
self  very  fast  with  his  straw  hat,  his  lips  moving  all  the 
while,  as  was  his  habit  whenever  he  thought  hard.  His  train 
of  ideas  at  last  led  to  the  conclusion  that  something  must  be 
done  ;  so  ordering  up  the  mare,  he  was  soon  oif  for  the 
Widow  Andrews',  resolved  to  lay  before  the  young  man  such 
a  picture  of  their  condition  as  would  not  fail  to  move  him, 
"  if,"  said  he,  •'  he  has  any  bowels  of  mercy  in  him." 

The  Widow  Andrews  was  much  surprised  to  see  the  old 
cart  drive  up  to  her  door,  for  her  good  neighbor,  though  a 
very  kind  man.  was  ah  indifferent  visitor.  She  did  not  wait 
for  him  to  alight,  a  business  never  rapidly  performed,  but 
ran  out  to  the  little  gate,  and  with  an  air  of  great  wonder 
ment  looked  up  at  the  old  man,  as  he  sat  dangling  on  the 
tail  of  his  carryall. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Uncle  Sam  ?  there  aint  no  bad  news, 
I'm  hoping.  But  do  tell  !  what  a  pucker  you're  in  ;  you  are 
clean  blowed,  aint  you,  Uncle  Sam?  Do  git  down  and  come 
in,  and  let  your  boy  tie  the  horse,  and  rest  you  a  bit  and  take 
a  little  breath." 

The  old  man  was  somewhat  put  to  it,  for  the  old  mare 
had  not  been  used  of  late,  and  she  had  several  additional 
gaits  to  try  that  day,  and  the  road  to  the  widow's  was  none 
of  the  best. 

"  Is  the  teacher  to  home  ?" 

"  La  me  !  what's  to  pay  now,  Uncle  Sam  ?  there  aint  no 
turn  up,  I  hope  ?  But  it's  jist  what  I've  been  a  fear  in' ;  he's 
too  good  for  'em,  I  knew  it,  and  I've  told  a  good  many  on 
'em  so  :  he's  jist  an  angel.  Oh  dear  !  if  you've  come  to  have 
him  druv  away,  Uncle  Sam,  it  will  break  my  heart,  and  it 
will  be  the  ruin  of  the  place,  and  where  will  they  ever  git 
sich  another  ?"  And  the  old  lady  began  to  wring  her  hands, 
and  to  run  upon  her  high  notes  at  such  a  rate,  that  Uncle 
Sam  began  to  be  restless,  and  making  a  desperate  effort  to 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  163 

get  some  wind  into  his  speaking  apparatus,  he  let  off  at  her 
in  no  very  moderate  terms. 

•'  Do,  woman,  stop  with  your  clatter ;  you'll  frighten  the 
mare,  the  next  thing,  and  she  has  a  most  killed  me  a'ready ; 
there  aint  no  need  o'  your  howling  and  caterwauling  at  that 
rate.  Bless  my  soul !  can't  a  body  ax  to  see  the  teacher,  but 
you  must  set  up  a  cry  as  if  the  day  of  judgment  was  a 
comin'  ?  I  don't  want  to  hurt  a  hair  of  his  head  ;  so  jist 
put  your  hands  down  and  git  into  the  house,  and  I'll  come 
in  to  rights." 

So  telling  Dick  to  stop  yanking  the  beast,  as  it  only 
made  her  worse,  and  to  sit  there  and  try  to  keep  her  quiet 
until  he  came  out,  he  let  himself  down,  and  puffing  and 
blowing,  from  his  sudden  and  extra  effort,  he  waddled 
through  the  little  gate,  and  reaching  the  stoop,  sat  down  on 
the  low  broad  step. 

"  Do  please  come  in,  Uncle  Sam,  and  take  a  chair." 

"  You  please  tell  me,  first,  if  the  teacher  is  to  home." 

"  Why,  you  see,  Uncle  Sam,"  coming  up  and  almost 
whispering  in  his  ear,  '•  he  aint  jist  to  home,  but  he'll  be  here 
in  a  minute ;  he's  gone  to  take  his  evenin'  walk  down  in  the 
grove  there.  You  see  he  goes  out  jist  as  reg'lar  as  can  be, 
every  livin'  day,  right  after  tea,  straight  down  to  the  grove, 
and  there  he  stays  awhile,  then  back  he  comes  agin ;  and 
Mary  and  I  have  been  try  in'  to  make  out  what  it  is  he's 
a  doin'  all  alone  by  himself  there.  Mary  says  he's  'mantic 
like,  as  she  calls  it,  but  I  don't  believe  it's  no  sich  thing. — 
Do,  la,  there  he  comes,  now ;  jist  see  how  still  and  quiet  he 
walks  along ;  that's  the  way  he  does  every  livin'  day  ;  so 
come  in,  Uncle  Sam." 

Mr.  Cutter,  however,  much  preferred  seeing  the  young 
man  alone,  and  chose  to  remain  where  he  was.  It  was  but  a 
few  minutes  after  the  widow  had  retired,  that  Mr.  Tracy  en 
tered  the  gate,  and  seeing  Mr.  Cutter,  walked  quickly  up, 
gave  him  a  cordial  shake  of  the  hand,  which  was  as  cordially 
returned,  and  rather  more  so  than  his  fingers  could  have 
wished  :  and  politely  invited  the  old  gentleman  into  his  pri 
vate  room,  as  Mr.  Cutter  had  intimated  his  desire  to  say  a 
few  words  to  him, 

It  took  the  old  man  some  little  time  to  recover  himself 
after  the  operation  of  being  ushered  into  a  strange  apart 
ment,  and  getting  himself  fixed  in  a  convenient  seat.  And 


164  JAMES   MONTJOY  J     OR, 

after  he  had  revived  enough  to  begin  to  talk,  a  great  manj 
commonplace  things  had  to  be  said  before  he  could  get  at 
the  subject  of  his  errand.  To  this,  however,  he  was  finally 
led  by  Mr.  Tracy's  remarking, 

"  That  he  began  to  be  very  much  encouraged  about  his 
school ;  the  boys  were  attentive  to  their  studies,  and  to  all 
the  regulations  of  the  school." 

k' Yes,  sir,  I  believe  the  boys  is  in  a  fair  way  now  to  learn 
decency  and  manners,  and  may  be  something  else ;  but  I've 
been  a  thinkin',  sir,  whether  you  couldn't  do  a  little  some 
thing  or  other  for  the  rest  on  us  here,  who  are  too  big  and 
too  old  to  go  to  school."  •  . 

Mr.  Tracy  was  at  a  loss  to  imagine  in  what  way  his  as 
sistance  could  be  required,  but  he  ventured  to  reply, 

"  That  any  thing  in  his  power,  whereby  he  could  be  of 
service,  consistent  with  his  present  duties,  he  would  gladly 
do." 

"  Glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  for  seeing  you've  got  the  larn- 
in',  there  aint  nothin'  else  in  the  way,  and  sure  am  I,  if  you 
knew  half  the  need  there  was  to  have  somethin'  done,  if  it 
is  ever  so  little,  just  by  way  of  decency  if  nothing  more,  you 
would  be  more  willing  than  you  say  you  are.  You  see,  my 
young  friend,  the  Evil  one  has  got  a  hard  grip  on  us,  and 
nothin'  but  preachin'  and  prayin'  will  ever  make  him  let  go, 
and  even  that  won't  do  some  of  us  much  good  if  we  don't 
have  it  soon.  You  see  I  am  an  old  man,  it  aint  long  that  I 
shall  be  hobbling  about  here.  I  can't  put  off  the  evil  day, 
as  you  who  are  just  beginnin' ;  there  are  a  good  many  things 
that  tell  me  that  I  am  'most  to  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  so  you 
must  not  wonder  if  I  feel  a  little  anxious  to  have  things 
more  in  a  righter  shape  than  they  are  with  me  at  present. 
And  there  are  a  good  many  in  all,  just  about  as  far  on  the 
road  as  I  am ;  and  for  folks  to  be  livin'  on  the  edge  of  the 
grave,  and  never  hear  a  word  about  any  thing  good  ;  oh,  my 
dear  sir  !  if  there  is  any  pity  in  you,  you'll  begin  right  off, 
and  try  to  do  somethin'  for  us." 

Henry  Tracy  was  deeply  affected  by  this  address,  for  the 
old  man  spoke  as  if  in  earnest,  and  the  tears  that  rolled 
freely,  told  how  much  he  felt. 

'•  I  cannot,  perhaps,  fully  understand  what  you  would 
have  me  to  do,  my  dear  sir.  You  know  that  I  am  not  at  all 
qualified  to  preach,  and  whom  to  direct  you  to,  I  know  not." 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  165 

"  You  can  do  all  the  preachin'  that  is  needed.  I  aint  at 
all  afeard  for  that ;  all  you  have  got  to  do  is  to  give  out  in 
the  school,  that  next  Sabbath  afternoon  there  will  be  a 
meetin'  in  the  school-room,  and  all  can  come  that's  a  mind  to. 
There  aint  no  need  of  nothiu'  further,  and  God  '11  bless  you 
for  it." 

Mr.  Tracy  would  have  made  very  decided  resistance,  had 
he  consulted  his  judgment  alone  ;  but  his  own  feelings  were 
too  much  in  unison  with  the  old  man's ;  the  want  of  public 
religious  privileges  he  had  begun  to  feel  most  deeply,  on  his 
own  account,  and  for  the  multitude  around  him.  He  could 
not  resist  this  appeal ;  with  a  humble  yet  resolute  heart  he 
replied, 

"  Well,  Mr.  Cutter,  I  will  do  as  you  say.  and  may  God 
assist  me.  and  grant  His  Spirit  with  us." 

"  May  the  Lord  bless  your  dear  young  heart !" 

The  old  man  could  say  no  more,  but  with  his  heart 
overflowing  with  joy,  he  arose,  pressed  the  hand  of  Mr. 
Tracy,  and  in  silence  hobbled  out  of  the  room  and  through 
the  gate,  and  took  his  usual  seat,  waiting  for  his  son  to  un 
tie  the  beast  and  drive  him  home. 

The  tidings  that  their  young  teacher  was  to  hold  a  meet 
ing  on  the  Sabbath  day,  soon  spread  throughout  the  place ; 
and  when  he  proceeded  to  give  public  notice  to  his  school,  it 
was  only  a  confirmation  to  the  boys  that  the  report  was  true. 

It  was  a  calm,  lovely  Autumn  day,  and  as  Henry  Tracy 
walked  on  his  way  by  the  path  which  he  had  chosen  for  his 
daily  route  to  the  school-house,  his  feelings  were  lulled  into 
delicious  repose  :  the  rustling  of  the  leaves,  the  stillness  that 
reigned  in  field  and  wood,  the  waning  tints  of  nature,  the 
modest  tones  of  the  school-bell,  calling  all  within  its  reach  to 
the  place  of  meeting ;  the  little  groups  which  could  be  seen 
in  different  roads,  bending  their  steps  thither;  it  seemed  more 
like  the  Sabbath  day  than  any  he  had  spent  here  yet. 

He  had  done  what  he  could  to  prepare  himself,  and  he 
had  a  strong  consciousness  of  being  in  the  path  of  duty  ; 
and  he  felt  a  composure  in  view  of  the  undertaking  which  he 
could  not  have  anticipated.  A  few  persons  were  collected 
round  the  door  ;  they  immediately  followed  him  as  he  en 
tered  :  to  his  surprise  a  large  congregation  was  waiting  his 
appearance. 

As  he  took  his  seat  on  a  little  platform  that  had  been 


166  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR 


prepared  for  the  occasion,  and  cast  his  eye  over  the  assem 
bly,  like  a  flash  of  light  his  usually  pale  features  were  crim 
soned  with  a  deep  blush,  and  then  away  it  flew,  and  a  deadly 
paleness,  that  alarmed  every  beholder,  came  in  its  place.  A 
sympathy  was  excited  in  every  bosom  ;  his  youth,  his  mod 
esty,  his  grace  of  manner,  his  unostentatious  effort  to  do 
them  good,  like  a  talisman  spread  its  charm  over  all  alike, 
and  prepared  them  to  receive  whatever  he  should  say,  with 
the  deepest  attention.  Henry  was  obliged  to  arouse  him 
self,  in  order  to  overcome  the  oppressive  weight  that  was  be 
coming  heavier  every  moment ;  he  therefore  proceeded  at 
once  to  the  business  before  him.  He  gave  out  a  hymn, 
which  he  read  with  much  propriety,  and  then  inquired  if 
there  was  any  one  present  who  could  lead  in  singing ;  but  as 
no  one  seemed  ready  to  undertake,  he  commenced  a  familiar 
tune.  An  electric  shock  could  not  have  surprised  them  more, 
than  the  melodious  notes  which  rolled  forth  upon  their  de 
lighted  ears.  Henry  Tracy  was  gifted — for  a  gift  surely  it 
was,  as  no  power  of  accomplishment  could  ever  have  im 
parted  it — with  one  of  those  rich  voices,  which  might  have 
entranced  the  multitude  on  a  public  stage  ;  but  its  melodious 
tone  had  only  rung  beneath  a  parent's  roof,  and  its  sweetest, 
most  touching  notes,  had  only  been  drawn  forth  in  praise. 
Quickened  by  the  music,  soon  every  voice  that  could  follow 
joined  fully  in,  but  above  them  all,  louder  and  sweeter  as 
the  hymn  went  on,  floated  those  rich  strains  which  Henry 
poured  forth,  as  from  a  heart  burning  with  intense  devotion. 
Enraptured,  solemnized,  softened,  the  whole  assembly,  both 
speaker  and  hearer,  were  happily  prepared  for  the  remaining 
services. 

The  prayer  which  followed,  was  short  and  well  ordered. 
He  addressed  the  Being  before  whom  angels  veil  their  faces, 
with  that  humility  of  expression,  with  that  pouring  out  of 
the  heart  in  natural  tones  for  a  sinner's  necessities,  which 
plainly  showed  he  was  making  a  petition  for  wants  which 
God  alone  could  supply,  and  not  framing  forms  of  sentences 
to  interest  or  please  man. 

The  passage  of  Scripture  which  he  had  selected,  was  the 
story  of  the  Prodigal  Son,  a  portion  of  that  blessed  volume 
peculiarly  precious  to  himself;  and  one  with  which  he  had  be 
come  most  familiar,  and  into  the  touching  scenes  it  deline 
ated,  he  had  entered  with  his  whole  heart. 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  167 

In  a  very  simple  manner,  he  first  explained  the  meaning 
of  a  parable,  and  the  reason  why  our  Saviour  chose  this 
method  of  instruction.  Being  well  versed  in  ancient  man 
ners  and  customs,  and  the  scenery  of  the  eastern  world,  he 
delineated  and  filled  up  what  was  necessary  to  convey  to  the 
minds  of  uninformed  persons,  a  perfect  idea  of  the  whole 
story.  Every  eye  was  riveted  upon  him,  and  his  energies 
were  strengthened,  as  he  went  along,  by  the  deep  interest 
which  he  saw  was  awakened  among  his  hearers. 

When  he  had  gone  through  with  the  story,  and  brought 
the  prodigal  back  to  his  father's  arms,  he  then  proceeded  to 
show  how  clearly  it  illustrated  the  sinner's  erring  path  away 
from  God,  the  fascinations  which  drew  him  on,  and  the 
misery  to  which  they  lead.  Here  and  there  a  tear  would  be 
seen  to  start,  and  occasionally  a  head  would  droop  :  it  was  evi 
dent  that  there  were  many  before  him  whose  real  character  he 
had  touched.  At  length  he  reached  the  turning  point,  the 
resolve  of  the  sinner  in  his  extremity,  that  he  will  arise  and 
return  to  his  God.  The  heart  of  the  speaker  filled  with  deep 
emotion,  his  voice  trembled,  his  language  became  more  glow 
ing,  his  words  flowed  rapidly,  he  forgot  himself,  and  free 
from  all  embarrassment,  poured  out  the  full  feelings  of  his 
soul.  His  excited  audience  sat  wrapped  in  solemnity,  and 
yielded  up  their  hearts  to  the  enchanting  theme :  like  fire 
in  the  stubble,  the  flame  flew  from  heart  to  heart ;  tears 
flowed  freely,  and  when  he  ceased,  there  was  stillness  like 
the  house  of  mourning,  interrupted  only  by  the  stifled  sob. 

He  sat  down  a  few  moments,  and  then  informed  them 
that  the  meeting  was  over.  Some  arose,  but  stopped  and 
looked  wistfully  towards  the  desk,  as  though  they  might  yet 
hear  something  more ;  others  sat  still  and  wept.  Henry 
prepared  to  depart ;  he  walked  slowly  through  the  benches, 
preceded  by  a  few  persons  who  were  leaving  the  house. 

As  he  approached  the  door,  his  hand  was  seized  in  a  pow 
erful  grasp.  He  looked  round,  and  recognized  at  once  his 
warm-hearted  friend,  old  Mr.  Cutter.  He  sat  on  the  end  of 
one  of  the  benches,  and  by  his  side  was  Billy  Bloodgood. 
Billy  looked  at  him  and  nodded  and  smiled,  while  he  wiped 
away  the  tears  that  overflowed  his  twinkling  eyes.  Billy 
had  not  heard  a  word,  but  he  had  a  very  tender  heart ;  he 
was  rejoiced  to  be  where  God  was  worshipped,  and  when  he 
gaw  all  around  him  affected,  he  yielded  to  the  impulse,  and 


168  JAMES  MONTJOY;    OR, 

wept  too.  Uncle  Sam  had  heard,  and  every  word  had  gone 
deep  into  his  heart.  It  was  no  sympathy  of  feeling  with 
those  around  him,  that  caused  the  big  tears  to  flow  so  freely  ; 
he  thought  of  none  but  himself  and  liis  God:  his  sinful  lost 
estate  had  been  set  before  him :  he  knew  it  was  his  own.  he 
felt  it  to  be  true.  He  listened  to  the  voice  of  the  speaker, 
telling  him  of  the  love  of  God,  and  inviting  him  to  trust  in 
it ;  he  believed,  and  yielding  to  the  call  of  mercy,  had  cast 
himself  into  the  arms  of  his  Saviour  and  found  peace.  No 
wonder  that  he  seized  with  such  convulsive  grasp  the  hand  of 
the  dear  youth.  Henry  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  old  man  ; 
he  saw  his  emotion,  he  saw  his  lips  quivering  in  a  vain  effort 
to  speak.  His  own  heart  ached,  and  tears  came  to  his  relief. 
Mr.  Cutter  made  a  desperate  effort,  shaking  the  hand  which 
he  still  held, 

"  God  bless  you  !   God  bless  you  !" 

Henry  hurried  away  to  his  home. 

Long  was  this  day  and  this  meeting  remembered  in  the 
place  ;  it  was  the  commencement  of  a  great  moral  change  ; 
the  darkness  which  had  so  long  brooded  over  it  was  rolled 
back,  and  the  light  that  streams  from  Heaven's  mercy,  came 
to  bless  their  spirits.  A  train  of  rich  and  lasting  benefits 
followed  quick,  and  spread  a  charm  over  this  long  neglected 
and  desolate  spot,  which,  from  a  dreary  wilderness,  converted 
it  into  a  garden  of  the  Lord. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Six  years  in  the  early  part  of  our  life,  makes  a  mighty 
change  in  our  personal  appearance,  the  current  of  our  feel 
ings,  and  our  course  in  life.  Childhood  and  youth  are  ever 
anticipating  the  fancied  joys  of  twenty-one,  but  that  blissful 
period  once  past,  and  the  goal  reached,  how  much  of  inno 
cent  and  heartfelt  happiness  is  left  behind  !  But  time  must 
on,  and  we  must  on  with  him,  and  meet  each  era  of  our  be 
ing  as  best  we  may. 

Six  years  have  made  a  vast  change  in  the  face  of  things 


'  I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  169 

within  our  village.  The  little  store,  which  Jim  and  Ned 
started  in  the  wood-shed  of  their  mother's  house,  has  been 
transferred  to  a  large  and  commodious  building,  situated 
near  the  water  and  contiguous  to  a  wharf,  where  are  snug 
moorings  for  the  good  sloop  Fanny,  now  under  the  command 
of  Sam  Oakum.  Along  the  shore,  where  the  few  fishermen's 
huts  alone  gave  signs  of  life  in  former  days,  are  now  decent 
dwellings.  Docks  are  building :  the  frames  of  vessels  of 
various  size  are  lying  in  their  cradles ;  and  the  noise  of  the 
lively  hammer  can  be  heard  through  the  long  summer  day. 
Young  men.  the  former  companions  of  our  boys,  are  now  en 
gaged  at  their  trades,  or  preparing  to  man  the  different  ves 
sels  when  ready  for  a  voyage.  Above  the  beach,  and  in  the 
town  more  properly,  as  great  a  change  is  manifest ;  old 
houses  are  neatly  repaired,  and  new  lines  of  fences  supply  the 
places  of  the  old,  tattered  inclosures  ;  while  here  and  there, 
on  sites  commanding  the  finest  views  of  the  beautiful  water 
scenery,  are  mansions  that  bespeak  the  wealth  and  taste  of 
their  owners  ;  and,  to  crown  all,  a  neat  church  sends  up  its 
lofty  spire  from  a  knoll  near  the  water's  edge,  the  last  object 
that  holds  the  eye  of  the  mariner  as  he  leaves  this  his  native 
home  to  breast  the  stormy  ocean,  and  the  first  to  bless  it  on 
his  return,  and  bid  him  think  of  Him  whose  wonders  he  has 
seen  on  the  deep. 

All  these  results  have  not  been  accomplished  alone  by 
those  whose  youthful  energies  gave  the  first  spring  to  life 
and  activity  in  the  place. 

Things  had,  indeed,  gone  prosperously  with  them.  Their 
trade,  although  small  at  first,  rapidly  increased  ;  the  oppor 
tunity  they  afforded  the  inhabitants  to  dispose  of  their  pro 
ductions  advantageously,  soon  stimulated  to  increased  cul 
tivation.  A  display  of  fashionable  goods  from  the  city, 
induced  a  taste  for  dress,  and  from  that  to  more  neatness  in 
their  dwellings,  and  every  thing  around  them.  The  timber 
from  the  barrens  became  an  article  of  great  demand  ;  and 
those  comparatively  valueless  wilds  bade  fare  to  yield  an  im 
mense  revenue  to  their  owners. 

But  in  addition  to  all  this,  a  few  wealthy  families  from 
other  parts,  attracted  by  the  pleasantness  of  the  location, 
had  come  among  them,  and  with  these  was  the  early  patron 
of  our  boys — Major  Morris  and  his  lovely  family.  He  had 
not  retired  from  the  service  ;  for  the  sound  of  war  was  rurn- 
8 


170  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

bling  in  the  distance,  and  dark  clouds  were  fast  rising  on  our 
political  horizon,  and  it  was  no  time  for  a  brave  and  good 
man  to  withdraw  from  his  country's  need.  But  he  was  tired 
of  the  unsettled  manner  of  life  to  which  he  had  been  so  long 
subjected,  and  resolved,  so  soon  as  a  favorable  opportunity 
should  offer,  to  retire,  and  enjoy  the  sweets  of  home  and  do 
mestic  life.  He  had  long  admired  the  location,  but  perhaps 
might  not  have  decided  to  make  it  his  place  of  residence,  but 
for  an  old  friend  of  his — one  whose  life  had  been  spent  upon 
the  ocean,  and  who  could  no  more  be  easy  without  the  sight 
and  smell  of  salt-water  than  the  fish  who  sport  upon  its  sun 
ny  bosom — Commodore  Trysail,  a  bluff,  high-tempered,  warm 
hearted  sailor.  He  had  won  high  honors  early  in  life,  but 
for  some  cause  in  an  hour  of  excitement  had  thrown  up  his 
commission.  He  had  amassed  a  handsome  fortune  since  then, 
by  engaging  in  the  East  India  trade ;  and  although  never 
condescending  to  command  even  his  own  ship,  he  had  made 
several  voyages  to  Bengal,  attending  solely  to  business  mat 
ters.  He  had  now  some  fine  vessels  of  his  own.  and  having 
relinquished  all  idea  of  going  abroad,  had  resolved  to  locate 
where  he  could  enjoy  what  he  had  so  long  been  accustomed 
to,  without  storms  and  billows.  Having  visited  the  place,  in 
company  with  Major  Morris,  he  was  at  once  charmed,  and 
they  both  decided  to  make  it  their  home,  and  do  what  they 
could  to  build  up  things  around  them.  No  wonder,  then,  if 
six  years  has  effected  such  an  entire  change  in  the  aspect  of 
things. 

Mr.  Grizzle  was  yet  alive,  and  kept  his  old  place,  but  his 
stock  of  goods  had  not  been  replenished  for  some  years. 
The  advantages  of  the  new  store  were  too  many  for  him  to 
compete  with.  Goods  new  and  cheap,  a  generous  price  for 
all  country  produce,  respectability  of  character,  polite  man 
ners,  and  perfect  fairness  in  dealing,  all  these  made  the  odds 
too  much  for  Mr.  Grizzle  to  contend  against ; — he  gave  it 
up.  One  corner  of  his  counter  yet  received  a  few  visitors ; 
for  through  the  day  could  be  frequently  seen  some  old  tot 
tering  wreck  of  humanity,  with  bald  head,  and  long,  thin 
locks,  stirring  eagerly  the  ancient  toddy-stick  in  a  large 
flowered  tumbler,  and  then,  with  trembling  hand,  raising  the 
much-loved  mixture  to  his  longing  lips,  already  quivering 
with  age,  and  soon  to  be  at  rest  in  the  grasp  of  death. 

There  had  been,  for  some  time  past,  a  little  mystery 


I'VE   BEEN    THINKING.  171 

about  a  newly-erected  house, — and  mysteries  in  small  towns 
are  always  troublesome  things. — it  was  a  neat  and  pleasant 
cottage,  finished  with  much  taste,  and  with  every  convenience 
for  a  small  family.  It  had  been  placed  on  a  very  pretty  loca 
tion,  not  far  from  the  hut  where  Sam  Oakum  and  his  parents 
lived,  just  on  the  rising  ground  which  overlooked  their  hum 
ble  place  of  abode,  and  commanded  a  full  view  of  the  whole 
panorama  of  bay  and  land  and  ocean,  that  stretched  be 
fore  the  eye  to  the  distant  horizon.  The  question  could  not 
be  solved  all  the  while 'it  was  building,  for  whom  this  pretty 
habitation  was  intended.  Curiosity  was  on  tiptoe  ;  it  formed 
the  subject  for  many  a  long  gossip  over  a  cup  of  tea,  and  so 
awakened  the  imagination  of  our  good  ladies,  that  all  sorts  of 
stories  were  circulated  in  reference  to  it. 

"  Can  any  body  tell  me,"  said  Aunt  Sally  Bloodgood,  as 
she  sat  pouring  out  tea  to  a  select  party  of  her  own,  with  a 
teapot  in  one  hand  and  a  water-pot  in  the  other,  dressed  in 
her  new  calico  gown  of  the  freshest  pattern,  and  no  more 
looking  like  Aunt  Sally,  when  we  first  saw  her,  than  nothing 
at  all.  Casting  her  eye  round,  as  she  put  the  two  pots 
down,  upon  the  inquisitive  countenances  of  her  neighbors — 
"  Can  any  body,  tell  me  who  that  house  is  a-building/br  1  and 
after  looking  round  from  one  to  the  other,  her  eye  finally 
settled  upon  her  good  friend  Mrs.  Cutter,  as  though  she  ex 
pected,  if  any  body  knew,  she  must. 

"  You  needn't  look  at  me,  Sally  ;  I  knows  nothing  about 
it,"  leaning  her  long  body  over  the  table,  and  shaking  her 
thin  visage  very  significantly.  "Cutter,  you  know,  don't 
go  about  much,  and  when  he  does  hear  any  thing,  he  keeps 
it  all  to  himself;  a  body  has  to  ding  their  life  out  to  get 
any  thing  out  of  him.  We  have  fixed  our  old  house,  so  that 
it  is  kind  of  snug  like,  so  it  aint  for  us,  no  how ;  and  who  is 
a-goin'  there  the  massy  only  knows." 

"  They  say,"  said  a  very  comfortable-looking  personage, 
with  good  round  cheeks,  and  other  things  in  proportion, — 
"  they  say.  Mrs.  Andrews,  that  your  William  is  a-building  that 
are  place  for  himself,  and  that  he's  a  coming  back  and  goin'  to 
be  married  to  Hettie  Brown,  and  they  are  to  live  there." 

"  Now  did  I  ever  !" — and  the  Widow  Andrews  turned  up 
her  eyes  towards  the  ceiling — a  common  way  wi'th  her — put 
her  two  hands  together,  and  rested  them  on  the  tea-table. 
"  I  don't  see  what  people  mean ;  I  aint  heered  no  sich  thing — • 


172  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

have  you.  Mary?"  appealing  to  her  daughter,  who  sat  be 
side  her.  and  began  to  move  about  in  her  chair,  and  to 
smooth  down  the  very  stiff  collar  that  encircled  her  neck. 
"  I  don't  see  what  people  talk  so  for  ;  I  believe  they  do  it  a- 
purpose ;"  and  the  widow  began  to  slide  up  on  her  high 
notes,  which  at  once  aroused  the  energies  of  her  daughter 
Mary. 

"  Oh,  do,  Ma !  don't  mind  if  they  do  talk ;  it  don't  hurt 
any  body ;  it  don't  make  it  so,  you  know ; — does  it,  Mrs. 
Bloodgood  ?" 

"  Do  la,  no  ;  and  if  it  did,  where's  the  harm  ?" 

"  Well."  said  the  fat  lady,  "  I  guess  yon  will  all  see :  for 
every  body  knows  the  two  young  folks  is  dead  in  love,  and 
they  say  he's  made  a  power  of  money ;  only  some  say  he 
won't  have  Hettie  after  all,  jist  because  she's  been  out  to 
service." 

Mrs.  Bloodgood  now  saw  that  the  harmony  of  her  party 
was  like  to  be  destroyed,  for  the  Widow  Andrews  was  be 
ginning  to  fan  herself,  and  breathe  short;  so  like  a  skilful  com 
mander,  she  brought  all  her  forces  to  bear,  in  order  to  turn 
the  attitude  of  affairs. 

"  Now,  Aunt  Peggy !"  addressing  the  fat  woman,  "  do, 
la — I  wouldn't  talk  so.  Folks  say  a  great  many  things  they 
don't  know  any  thing  about.  William  is  a  brave  boy ;  and 
if  he's  got  ahead  in  the  world,  I'm  glad  on  it ;  but  who  he 
will  marry,  or  when  he  will  marry,  I  guess  there  aint  any 
body  that  knows.  Don't  you  say  so,  Mrs.  Andrews  1  But, 
do,  la  !  Here  I've  been  a  talking,  and  your  tea  is  clean  out, 
let  me  give  you  another  cup ;  and,  Aunt  Peggy,  won't  you 
hand  round  that  plate  of  cake?  and  won't  you  all  help  your 
selves  ?  and  them  baked  pears,  they  are  fresh  and  nice  ;  I  did 
them  up  this  very  morning — but  may  be  some  of  you  would 
like  the  preserves  ?  Sally  Cutter,  you  just  hand  the  Widow 
Andrews  that  saucer  of  preserves." 

The  tea,  and  the  cake,  and  the  preserves  now  demanded 
general  and  particular  notice,  and  between  eating  and  drink 
ing,  and  praising  the  good  things,  and  asking  for  receipts,  a 
very  delightful  state  of  confusion  and  loud  talking  about  all 
manner  of  things,  showed  how  successful  was  Aunt  Sally's 
effort  to  maintain  the  peace. 

Nor  was  Aunt  Sally  Bloodgood's  the  only  tea-circle  that 
was  disturbed  by  this  unaccountable  affair ;  it  was  a  great 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  173 

marvel,  and  the  poor  builder  actually  lost  the  good-will  of 
more  than  one  of  the  tea-drinking  old  ladies  :  but  he  did  not 
seein  to  mind  it,  for  he  went  on  in  a  quiet  way  to  finish  the 
thing.  And  when  he  had  done  that,  he  locked  the  door,  put 
the  key  in  his  pocket,  shut  the  little  gate,  and  went  to  work 
at  another  job. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

IF  there  was  a  prettier  girl  than  Mary  Oakum  in  all  that 
region,  it  would  have  been  a  sight  worth  riding  some  miles 
to  see,  and  an  equally  lovely  spirit  breathed  forth  in  every 
word,  sparkled  from  every  look,  and  shone  forth  embodied 
in  her  whole  conduct.  She  had  the  same  black  hair,  the 
same  flashing,  deep-set,  hazel  eye,  the  same  laughing  mouth ; 
she  was  a  beautiful  miniature  of  Sam,  only  replacing  his  nut- 
brown  complexion  with  a  pure  red  and  white.  Mary  was 
now  seventeen,  not  large  of  her  age,  but  gracefully  formed, 
and  just  putting  on  the  finishing  points — the  filling  up  of  the 
true  proportions  in  lovely  woman. 

Susan,  the  youngest  sister,  would  no  doubt  also  be  called 
pretty ;  but  her  style  of  beauty  was  from  a  different  mould ; 
for  her  hair  was  light,  and  her  eyes  blue,  and  her  complexion 
though  fair,  without  color.  Although  two  years  younger,  she 
was  nearly  as  tall  as  her  sister,  with  a  serious  cast  of  coun 
tenance  that  made  her  appear  at  times  of  an  equal  age. 

The  parents  and  children  still  occupied  the  little  house 
on  the  shore ;  it  was  a  very  small,  poor  building,  but  they 
had  kept  patching  it  up  the  best  they  could ;  and  being 
very  happy  among  themselves,  they  thought  not  of  its  im 
perfections  with  any  feelings  of  repining  or  discontent. 

Sam  was  the  idol  of  them  all :  parents  and  sisters  hung 
upon  him  with  an  ardor  of  attachment,  looked  up  to  him  with 
a  feeling  of  dependence,  confidence,  and  joy,  which  made  him 
ever  the  light  of  their  humble  home,  when  present  with 
them,  and  drew  their  hearts  after  him  with  almost  painful 
interest  when  absent. 

He  still  wore  his  sailor's  rig,  was  very  tasty  in  his  dress; 


174  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

never  appearing  among  business  men  or  at  his  house,  in  the 
same  garb  in  which  he  stood  at  the  helm.  How  anxiously 
would  his  sisters  watch  for  the  first  glimpse  of  his  white  sail 
in  the  distance !  and  how  elastic  were  their  steps,  as  they 
bounded  from  the  house  to  meet  him,  as  soon  as  they  de 
scried  their  neat,  trim  sailor-boy,  as  they  called  him,  turning 
the  angle  in  the  shore  near  their  house. 

The  day  of  his  return  had  come,  and  Mrs.  Oakum  and 
Susan  were  busily  employed  clearing  away  the  relics  of  the 
early  meal,  and  putting,  if  possible,  a  brighter  polish  on  every 
thing,  when  Mary  came  into  the  room,  arrayed  in  her  very 
best.  She  had  on  her  best  new  calico,  and  her  hair  was  out 
of  curl,  and  hung  gracefully  upon  her  white  neck,  and  her 
feet  were  in  neat  trim ;  and  in  one  hand  she  held  a  small 
green  bag,  and  in  the  other  her  sun-bonnet. 

"  Why,  sister,  whither  away  so  early  1  Your  new  dress 
on  too ;  your  hair  fixed  so  prettily,  and  your  best  shoes  and 
all.  Where  are  you  going  to  make  a  call  so  early  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  call,  sister  dear !  I  am  only  going  to  the  store. 
You  know  I  lost  my  thimble  the  other  evening,  and  I 
thought  I  would  get  another  before  Sammy  comes ;  he  might 
want  me  to  do  something,  and  I  should  be  sorry  to  say  I 
had  no  thimble." 

A  deep  blush  spread  all  over  Mary's  beautiful  white  neck 
and  temples  and  forehead;  the  rich  rose  of  her  cheeks  seemed, 
on  an  instant,  to  have  sent  its  crimson  hue  in  all  directions. 
Had  Mary  equivocated  ?  Not  in  the  least ;  she  had  never 
learned  that  art.  Was  not  the  errand  a  lawful  one  ?  Cer 
tainly  it  was  ;  she  told  the  truth  in  all  its  simplicity.  She 
wanted  a  thimble,  and  was  going  for  that,  and  with  no  other 
motive  whatever. 

It  was  simply  a  flash  of  truth  that  crossed  her  mind ; — 
it  was  elicited  by  the  remark  of  her  sister  in  reference  to  her 
dress.  Susan  meant  nothing  in  particular ;  nor  had  Mary, 
until  then,  an  idea  that  she  meant  any  thing  in  particular  by 
what  she  had  done. 

We  must  look  into  things  a  little,  however,  while  Mary 
is  on  her  way  to  the  store,  for  which  she  immediately  started, 
the  moment  she  felt  the  blood  flying  off"  so  to  all  points.  She 
smiled,  slipped  on  her  bonnet,  and  was  off. 

It  is  utterly  out  of  the  question,  getting  along  with  ever 
so  simple  a  story,  where  young  ladies  and  young  gentlemen 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  175 

are  the  subjects,  without  being  obliged  to  come  in  contact 
with  that  little  mischievous  urchin,  who  has  ever  been  rep 
resented  fumbling  about  ladies'  hearts  and  young  gentle 
men's  heads,  and  setting  things  all  agog  wherever  he  goes. 
I  have  tried  it,  but  it  can't  be  done.  Here,  now,  is  an  in 
stance.  This  lovely  maiden  was,  but  a  few  years  since,  a 
little  romping  girl,  and  she  had  grown  up  in  great  intimacy 
with  a  very  staid  and  rather  good-looking  boy.  She  had  sat 
on  his  lap,  pulled  his  hair,  walked  with  him  by  the  shore 
hand  in  hand,  looking  for  pretty  stones  and  shells ;  played 
hide-and-seek  with  him,  in  company  with  her  brother  and 
sister,  among  the  rocks  by  moonlight,  and  even  kissed  him 
just  as  she  did  Sam,  and  thought  no  harm  of  it.  She  has, 
to  be  sure,  long  since,  eschewed  all  such  things,  and  stands 
now  upon  her  womanly  dignity.  But  this  boy,  although 
grown  up  to  manhood,  has  not  grown  out  of  her  interest. 
When  the  playfulness  of  childhood  passed  away,  as  by  right 
it  should,  other  feelings,  began  to  take  its  place.  A  deep, 
respect  for  his  fine  character,  which  shone  brighter  and 
brighter  as  he  grew  up  ;  an  admiration  of  his  manly  appear 
ance  ;  a  feeling  of  gratitude  for  the  kind  interest  he  took  in 
her  brother ;  a  desire  to  have  his  approbation,  to  do  whatever 
she  heard  him  say  he  liked ;  in  fine,  to  assimilate  her  views 
and  feelings,  her  tastes  and  pleasures,  to  his — to  lose  her 
whole  self  in  the  being  of  that  young  man,  was,  it  must  be 
said, — it  may  as  well  be  as  not,  for  it  is  truth, — the  reigning 
passion  of  her  soul. 

But,  did  any  body  know  this  ?  "Not  a  human  being.  A 
mother's  searching  eye  may  possibly  at  times  have  discerned 
a  glimmering  of  the  truth ;  but  if  so,  she  had  kept  it  to 
herself. 

Did  Mary  know  she  loved  ?  No,  not  as  the  truth  itself 
must  say  she  did  ;  it  was  a  secret,  within  what  she  could  see 
of  her  little  heart,  into  which  no  human  eye  had  yet  pried, 
but  there  it  was  ;  it  did  sometimes  betray  itself  a  little — a 
very  little  :  that  blush  which  seemed  to  come  without  a  cause, 
which  sent  her  off  so  quickly  from  observation,  was  just  a 
token  that  she  was  a  little  conscious — only  a  little — how  the 
matter  stood. 

But  whom  did  she  love  ?  That  is  another  question. 
And  does  he  love  her  1  If  he  does  not,  he  ought  to ;  for,  let 
him  seek  the  world  over,  he  cannot  find  a  purer,  lovelier  ob- 


176  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

ject  to  rest  his  earthly  happiness  upon  ;  he  cannot  find  a 
soul  that  burns  with  an  intenser  ardor  towards  each  friend 
her  bosom  cherishes ;  he  cannot  find  a  heart  that,  glowing 
with  the  purest  earthly  love,  holds  all  its  rich  and  priceless 
treasures  for  himself  alone,  like  hers. 

But  we  must  stop,  for  she  has  reached  the  store,  and 
quietly  walks  up  to  the  side  of  the  counter  ;  passes  a  pleasant 
word  with  the  few  ladies  who  are  there  before  her,  and  re 
ceives  a  polite  and  friendly  salutation  from  Edward,  who, 
busily  attending  upon  those  immediately  before  him,  was 
using  his  hand  and  his  tongue  with  great  skill  and  rapidity. 

"  Good  morning,  Mary.  All  well  at  home  to-day  ?"  said 
James,  stepping  from  his  place,  and  standing  before  her. 

Mary  looked  up  in  surprise,  for  she  had  not  yet  glanced 
her  eye  to  see  whether  the  staid  senior  partner  was  at  his 
desk. 

"  All  well — very  well,  I  thank  you."  His  address  and 
the  reply  were  delivered  in  a  low  tone,  and  he  was  leaning 
over  the  counter  when  he  spoke. 

"  Any  demands  to-day  ?" 

"  Nothing  but  a  thimble ;"  and  she  smiled  and  held  up 
her  hand,  preparing  to  take  off  her  glove.  James  immedi 
ately  produced  a  little  case,  and  placed  it  before  her,  but  she 
shook  her  head — 

"  These  are  silver — a  common  kind  will  answer  me." 
Another  case  was  brought,  and  James  leaned  over  again,  and 
began  to  select  what,  in  his  judgment,  should  be  about  the 
size  ;  but  somehow  he  picked  out  of  the  silver  case  alone. 

"  Just  try  this,  Mary ;  none  of  those  seem  to  fit  you 
well ;"  and  he  was  rash  enough  to  take  hold  of  her  plump 
little  hand,  and  fairly  screwed  it  to  the  finger — it  was  a  fit ; 
the  thimble  seemed  to  have  been  made  for  it." 

"  You  will  hardly  do  better  than  to  keep  that." 

"  But  it  is  silver,  and  I  cannot  afford  to  lose  it ;  I  am  for 
ever  losing  them." 

"  You  may  be  more  fortunate  with  this,  for  it  is  a  pre 
sent." 

"  Oh  !  thank  you — thank  you  ;  it  is  a  beautiful  thimble. 
I  shall  be  very  choice  of  it." 

"  Because  it  is  silver  ?"  and  James  looked  at  her  with 
rather  a  meaning  glance. 

"  Oh,  no,  not  altogether ;  to  be  sure  I  should  be  sorry 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  177 

to  lose  this,  because — because  it  is  more  valuable," — and 
seeing  James  beginning  to  color — "it  is  not  only  silver, 
but  it  is  a  gift." 

All  this  passed  in  a  tone  that  could  not  be  heard  amidst 
the  din  which  Edward  and  his  customers  kept  up. 

"  I  have  news  to  tell  you,  likewise,  and  was  on  the  point 
of  walking  to  your  house  to  let  you  know  that  the  owner  of 
that  building  near  you,  and  about  which  there  has  been  so 
much  curiosity,  is  expected  to  arrive  to-day." 

"  Then  you  have  known  who  was  the  owner  ?" 

K  I  suppose  I  may  as  well  confess  it." 

"  And  never  told  us  ?" 

"  You  never  asked  me.  The  family  I  have  long  known; 
I  esteem  them  highly,  and  I  think  you  will  be  much  pleased 
with  them,  especially  with  the  eldest  daughter." 

Mary  was  silent ;  she  wished  to  ask  several  questions, 
but  that  eldest  daught.e)' — somehow  the  words  struck  a 
chill  to  her  heart ;  she  was  all  at  once  very  thoughtful. 

"  Your  brother  and  I  are  anxious  to  have  things  arrang 
ed  before  they  get  here,  and  Sam  particularly  wishes  that 
his  father  and  all  of  you  should  be  there  when  they  arrive, 
and  I  think,"  said  James,  "  as  you  are  to  be  such  near  neigh 
bors,  it  would  be  well  to  show  them  all  kindness." 

"  Oh,  by  all  means ;  certainly,  we  will  do  every  thing 
we  can  to  welcome  them,  as  they  are  friends  of  yours — 
but"— 

"  But  what,  Mary  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  cannot  be  sure  that  they  will  wish  to  be  very 
intimate  with  us,  our  circumstances  will  be  so  different." 

"  They  are  a  family,  Mary,  that  does  not  regard  such  dis 
tinctions.  You  will  love  them — I  know  you  will.  I  hope  to 
enjoy  their  society  much,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  too." 

Poor  restless  Mary  !  What  ails  you,  that  you  twirl  that 
little  bag  so  rapidly,  and  seem  so  much  confused  ?  Have 
you  made  some  unaccountable  blunder  1  or  does  the  whirling 
bag  but  show  how  things  are  flying  round  within  your  little 
heart  1 

"  I  will  be  along,  as  soon  as  I  can,  with  the  key,  and  if 
you  are  all  willing,  we  will  go  to  work  and  arrange  things 
a  little  for  them." 

"  Oh,  certainly  ;  we  will  go  with  pleasure.  Good  morn 
ing."  James  accompanied  her  to  the  door. 


178  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

"  In  an  hour  or  so,  I  will  be  at  your  house.  Good  morn 
ing."  He  bowed  low,  and  retired  to  his  desk. 

"  And  I  suppose  he  thinks  the  thimble  will  be  a  bribe  to 
induce  me  to  be  very  polite  to  that  eldest  daughter,  but  he 
need  not  fear.  I  shall  do  every  thing  I  can  to  make  it  plea 
sant.  The  thimble  I  shall  return,  when  I  have  an  opportu 
nity,  and  shall  tell  him  that  Mary  Oakum  could  be  kind  to 
his  friends,  without" — 

She  could  not  say  any  more,  and  this  she  did  not  say.  she 
only  thought  it ;  and  then  she  began  to  be  very  much  ashamed 
that  she  had  even  thought  it.  But  there  was  a  tumult  in 
poor  Mary's  heart :  at  times  she  would  hush  it,  but  then 
again  it  would  rage  and  riot  at  will,  and  make  such  a  state 
of  things  as  she  had  never  known  before. 

James  came  along  after  a  while  with  the  key,  but  not  so 
soon  as  he  expected.  Mrs.  Oakum  and  the  girls  accompanied 
him  to  the  house ;  and  as  Mary  resolved  to  put  down  all 
naughty  feelings,  and  to  be  very  pleasant  and  agreeable,  every 
thing  wore  a  cheerful  aspect,  for  Mrs.  Oakum  and  Susan 
were  delighted  with  the  idea  of  seeing  and  becoming  ac 
quainted  with  their  new  neighbors,  especially  as  James  gave 
such  a  favorable  account  of  them.  He  had  to  take  a  little 
scolding  from  Susan,  but  it  was  done  in  such  a  good-natured 
way,  that  the  harmony  was  not  in  the  least  disturbed  by  it. 

As  they  had  never  gratified  their  curiosity  while  the  house 
was  building,  as  many  had,  it  was  all  new  to  them ;  great 
was  the  admiration  expressed  at  the  neatness,  taste  and 
convenience  of  all  its  parts,  the  rooms  were  so  pleasant  and 
the  view  so  charming. 

"And  what  a  sweet  place  this  is,"  said  Susan,  as  they 
entered  one  of  the  attic  rooms ;  "how  beautifully  those  branches 
of  the  willow  hang  before  the  window,  and  how  prettily  the 
water  looks  through  them,  and  the  church  and  the  parsonage ! 
It  is  the  finest  view  from  any  part  of  the  house,  is  it  not, 
sister?" 

"  It  is  very  pretty,"  said  Mary,  and  she  sighed. 

"  Now,  sister  dear,  what  was  that  for  ?  You  don't  feel 
bad  that  we  have  no  such  place  ?" 

"  My  dear  sister,  do  you  think  I  am  covetous  or  envious  ?" 
And  Susan  threw  her  arms  around  her  neck,  and  kissed  off  a 
tear  which  she  supposed  her  suggestion  had  produced. 

"  Covetous,  envious ;  you  don't  know,  Mary,  what  such 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  179 


wicked  feelings  are.  Oh  !  forgive  me,  if  what  I  said  led  to 
any  such  idea ;  but  I  don't  think  I  ever  heard  you  sigh  be 
fore.  Why  was  it,  sister  ?" 

"  Oh,  nothing.  But  we  ought  not  to  stay  here,  ought 
we,  as  there  is  so  much  to  do  ?" 

And  down  they  went,  and  to  work,  with  good-will.  Mrs. 
Oakum  was  in  the  kitchen,  examining  with  an  eye  of  one 
who  knew  well  the  comfort  of  conveniences  there ; — it  was 
so  snug ;  every  thing  to  be  used  was  close  at  hand :  a  well 
of  water  by  the  door,  a  shed  for  the  wood,  and  such  a  beauty 
of  a  milkroom,  it  almost  smelled  of  cream  and  butter  ;  and 
from  the  kitchen  you  could  look  out  upon  such  a  love  of  a 
garden-spot,  large  enough  to  raise  all  that  a  moderate-sized 
family  could  possibly  want ;  while  opening  into  it  and  near 
the  house  was  a  neat  little  stable,  of  sufficient  size  for  a  cow 
and  horse,  with  their  provender. 

"  Some  one,"  said  Mrs.  Oakum,  "  has  contrived  all  this, 
who  knows  what  is  needful  for  the  comfort  of  a  family." 

James  was  very  active,  and  showed  great  skill  in  dis 
tributing  the  several  articles  into  the  different  apartments. 

"  I  guess,"  said  Susan,  smiling  archly,  "  that  one,  who 
seems  to  know  so  well  where  things  belong,  must  have  had 
something  to  do  in  getting  them  :  who  knows,"  said  she, 
winking  to  Mary,  "  but  this  house  is  for  himself  after  all ; 
and  that  eldest  daugtder  he  talks  so  much  about  is  to  be — . 
Dear  sister,  I  know  you  are  not  well,  you  are  so  pale  ;  you 
have  worked  too  hard." 

"  I  am  afraid  she  has,"  said  James,  looking  with  much 
anxiety. 

"  Oh.  not  at  all ;  I  am  very  well ; — but  these  things,  had 
we  not  better  be  putting  them  in  their  places  ?" 

"  These  must  be  all  for  one  room ;  they  are,  you  see, 
painted  white  and  tipped  with  green — the  chairs,  and  the 
table,  and  wash-stand,  they  must  be  for  that  little  attic 
room.  Don't  you  think  so,  Mary  ?"  said  Susan,  catching  up 
a  chair. 

"  I  think  they  would  be  suitable  there,"  said  Mary. 

"  There  they  shall  go  then,"  said  James ;  and  soon  the 
little  room  was  furnished. 

"  Oh,  is  it  not  sweet?"  said  Susan.  "  But  Ma  is  calling 
us  to  help  her  with  the  carpet."  replied  Mary,  and  down  they 
went.  Here,  however,  was  a  difficulty ;  the  carpet  was  in 


180  JAMES  MONTJOY:   OR, 


a  roll,  and  there  would  be  no  time  to  cut  it  and  sew  it  to 
gether. 

"  It  would  take  us  a  whole  day,"  said  Susan,  "  do  our 
best." 

Mrs.  Oakum,  however,  proposed  that  she  should  cut  the 
breadths,  and  lay  them  down,  and  some  other  day  they  would 
come  and  assist  the  family  in  sewing  it  together ;  so  Mary 
out  with  her  scissors,  and  the  floor  was  soon  covered  ;  and  as 
this  was  the  best  room,  the  furniture  suitable  was  arranged 
in  it,  and  to  the  girls  it  seemed  a  grand  place. 

"  And  now,"  said  Mrs.  Oakum,  "  the  rooms  seem  to  be  all 
provided  with  their  furniture,  except  the  kitchen,  and  I  don't 
see  that  there  is  any  provision  made  for  that.  What  will 
they  do  ?"  looking  from  one  to  the  other.  James  smiled, 
blushed,  and  appeared  confused,  and  was  about  to  say  some 
thing  explanatory,  when  the  door  was  opened,  and  Mr. 
Oakum  entered,  dressed  in  his  Sunday  suit ;  this  he  had  put 
on  at  the  request  of  the  girls.  He  informed  them  that  the 
sloop  was  in,  and  that  Sammy  was  on  his  way  up. 

Sam  had  no  lack  of  kisses  that  day,  and  Mary  even  hung 
upon  him  more  fondly  than  ever;  and  Sam  thought  he 
saw  a  tear  glistening  in  her  eye,  but  she  wiped  it  away,  and 
said — 

"  It  was  nothing." 

Ah,  Mary  !  the  world  is  full  of  such  nothings  ;  it  is  ever 
piercing  the  heart  of  such  sensitive  beings  as  yourself,  and 
forcing  out  the  drops  that  tell  in  mute  but  unmistaken 
language  the  aching  and  agony  within.  Nothing ;  oh,  no : 
was  it  nothing  that  your  fond,  fond  hope,  too  fresh  and  pure 
as  yet  to  breathe  the  air  of  life,  was  smitten,  wilting,  dying 
by  a  touch,  which  only  could  have  injured  so  pure,  so  deli 
cate  a  flower  ? 

"  So,  Mr.  Sammy,  you  knew  the  secret  all  the  time  about 
the  house?"  said  his  youngest  sister,  coming  up  and  hanging 
on  him  for  a  kiss. 

"  Oh,  you  know,  sis,  secrets  are  troublesome  to  ladies ;  I 
did  not  wish  to  burden  you,  my  dear." 

"  Very  generous  it  was  in  you.  Oh,  I  wish  I  was  strong 
enough  to  shake  you ;"  but  as  she  was  not,  she  caught  him 
round  the  neck  and  kissed  him. 

"  But  come  in,  and  see  how  well  we  have  arranged  things. 
Will  they  be  here  soon  ?" 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  181 


Sam  made  no  reply  to  Susan's  last  question,  but  followed 
ner  immediately  into  the  house. 

They  were  all  soon  collected  in  the  parlor,  expatiating 
on  the  beauty  of  the  place,  and  were  beginning  to  ask  Sam 
a  variety  of  questions,  when  James  all  at  once  left  the  room, 
and  Sam,  drawing  from  his  pocket  a  packet  neatly  enveloped, 
his  parents  and  sisters  looked  at  him,  expecting  some  new 
disclosure. 

"  My  dear  parents,  I  have  practised  a  little  deception 
upon  you,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  which  I  hope  you  will 
pardon,  when  you  hear  the  nature  of  it.  This  house,  which 
you  have  been  arranging,  does  not  belong  to  any  stranger, 
as  you  have  been  led  to  think — it  is  all  your  own  ;  and  here, 
my  dear  father,  is  the  deed  which  makes  it  and  the  ground 
around  it  yours  for  ever,"  handing  to  his  wonder-stricken 
parent  the  paper  he  had  in  his  hand. 

Mr.  Oakum  took  the  paper,  but  was  so  overcome  with 
amazement,  that  he  could  say  nothing ;  he  looked  at  his  wife, 
who,  for  a  moment,  sat  with  her  hands  clasped  before  her, 
her  eyes  strained  in  their  intense  gaze  on  her  darling  boy. 
She  then  sprang  to  clasp  him  in  her  arms,  but  the  girls  were 
before  her,  and  were  hanging  around  his  neck,  and  fairly 
smothering  him  with  their  fond  embrace.  Sam  put  out  his 
arms  to  receive  his  mother,  and  she  fell  upon  his  neck,  and 
burst  into  tears. 

"  Oh,  Sammy  !  my  dear  Sammy  !  may  God  bless  you  for 
ever  and  ever." 

His  father,  overcome  by  the  rush  of  his  own  excited  feel 
ings  and  the  outburst  of  affection  on  the  part  of  the  mother 
and  sisters,  dropped  the  paper,  and  leaning  on  his  hands, 
could  only  shed  tears  of  joy.  It  was  not  the  beautiful  gift, 
valuable  as  it  was,  nor  the  sudden  flow  of  prosperity,  that 
raised  them  at  once  from  a  poor  and  decayed  tenement  to  a 
dwelling  equal  in  respectability  to  the  best  in  the  place ; 
thoughts  far  richer  to  a  parent's  heart  were  thrilling  his 
bosom  and  working  up  his  feelings  into  intense  and  over 
powering  emotion ;  to  have  at  once,  and  in  such  a  manner, 
developed  the  full-blown  beauty  of  that  flower  which,  all 
along,  as  he  watched  it  in  the  bud,  gave  such  promise  of 
its  future  glory;  to  find  in  the  man  who  stood  before  him  in 
his  strength  and  ardor,  the  same  kind,  loving,  feeling  fond 
ness  that  the  boy  had  manifested ;  in  fine,  to  know  that  pros- 


182  JAMES   MONTJOY  |    OR, 


perity  and  manhood  had  not  changed  his  Sammy ;  it  was 
enough ;  earth  had  no  better  good,  heaven  could  give  no 
richer  earthly  solace.  And  could  that  son  have  heard  the 
thoughts  which  rose  in  gushing  ardor  to  the  throne  on  high, 
and  could  his  vision  but  have  burst  the  veil  which  hides  that 
secret  place  where  thoughts  are  registered,  he  would  have 
felt  that  a  recompense  already  had  been  treasured  for  him 
beyond  the  reach  of  venture  or  decay. 

Sam  had  made  but  little  calculation  as  to  the  effect 
of  this  surprise,  either  on  his  parents  or  himself.  He  had 
often  in  boyish  days,  even  when  all  around  was  dark  and 
forbidding,  amused  himself  with  visions  of  the  future,  of  all 
that  he  might  be  and  do ;  and  in  every  fancy  sketch,  his 
mind  portrayed  for  the  comfort  of  his  parents  ;  the  joy  which, 
in  some  unexpected  way,  might  be  infused  into  their  spirits, 
was  ever  the  prominent  figure  in  the  scene.  This  object, 
now  so  happily  accomplished,  had  been  his  aim  for  years :  for 
this  he  had  resisted  his  inward  impulse  to  go  abroad  and 
visit  distant  climes,  and  seek  a  fortune  more  genial  to  his 
bounding  spirit ;  steadily  had  he  pursued  his  calling,  and 
faithfully  labored  and  stored  away  his  earnings  with  almost 
a  miser's  care,  to  gratify  this  heaven-born,  filial  love,  and  in 
some  hour  of  exquisite  delight,  enjoy  his  long,  long-treasured 
wish  ;  and  now  that  hour  had  come.  He  had  opened  the 
floodgates  of  happiness  upon  these  dear  objects  of  his  affec 
tion,  and  was  overpowered  himself.  He  sat  down  beside 
his  mother,  and  mingled  his  tears  with  hers. 

But  why  has  Mary  left  the  scene?  and  why  has  she  gone 
with  such  haste  to  that  little  attic  room  ?  and  why  does  she 
clasp  her  hands  and  raise  her  eye  to  heaven,  and  shed  such 
tears  as  now  overflow  those  long  dark  lids  and  bathe  her 
beauteous  cheek  ?  Another  token  these  of  that  deep  feeling 
which  her  secret  heart  so  long  has  nourished  ;  that  room  is 
pleasant  now — almost  the  gate  of  heaven,  for  hither  she  has 
come,  in  this  moment  of  heart-felt  bliss,  to  pour  out  her  heaving 
thoughts  in  gratitude  to  God ;  and  here  she  hopes,  in  days 
and  years  to  come,  to  send  up  the  incense  so  pleasing  unto 
Him  who  loves  a  contrite  heart. 

Mary  had  much  to  think  of;  no  longer  could  she  hide 
from  herself  the  fact,  that  she  loved  James  Montjoy ;  and 
every  word  which  he  had  said,  and  which  had  caused  her  so 
much  inward  pain,  was  now  a  source  of  new  and  heart-felt 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  183 


joy,  and  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  misunderstand  those  al 
lusions  which  so  plainly  pointed  to  herself;  and  yet  she  would 
say,  "  he  was  only  in  fun ;  he  knew  it  must  all  come  out — he 
meant  nothing  by  it,  nothing  particular."  Thus  ruminat 
ing,  and  with  a  happy  heart,  she  skipped  lightly  down  the 
little  staircase  and  along  the  hall,  as  James  was  returning 
from  a  stroll  in  the  garden,  to  which,  out  of  delicacy  for 
the  feelings  of  the  family,  he  had  retired,  just  as  Sam  was 
about  to  make  the  disclosure. 

He  put  out  his  band  to  congratulate  her  upon  the  happy 
surprise ;  overcome  with  the  scene  she  had  just  passed 
through,  and  the  rush  of  feelings  at  the  sight  of  him,  she  ex 
tended  her  hand  and  burst  into  tears  again.  Of  all  the 
witcheries  which  lovely  woman  has  at  her  command  to  be 
wilder,  confound,  alarm  and  craze  poor  feeble  man,  tears  are 
the  wickedest. 

James  was  completely  upset,  and  lost  for  the  time  all  sense 
of  the  proprieties,  for  he  drew  her  close  to  him,  and  putting 
his  arm  around  her,  as  a  brother  might,  stooped  and  kissed 
her  fair  forehead  !  Oh  Jim  !  what  was  you  thinking  of?  Who 
would  ever  have  thought,  that  looked  upon  your  sober  and 
business  like  countenance,  and  was  acquainted  with  your  pre 
cise  way  of  doing  things,  of  your  being  engaged  in  such  rash 
proceedings?  And  what  ails  poor  Mary's  forehead?  for  a 
crimson  blush  has  covered  it,  and  she  is  all  in  a  tremor,  and 
seems  fastened  beneath  your  embrace,  and  leans  her  head 
against  your  bosom  as  though  it  was  her  resting-place ;  oh, 
Jim — Jim ! 

Reason,  however,  soon  returned ;  James  withdrew  his 
arm,  and  pressing  the  hand  which  he  had  been  holding,  suf 
fered  her  to  go  on  her  way,  which  she  did  with  the  speed  of 
a  bird,  but  whether  laughing,  or  crying,  I  will  not  pretend 
to  say. 

As  James  entered  the  parlor  the  scene  had  to  be  in  some 
measure  renewed,  for  he  was  so  identified  with  all  the  pros 
perity  they  had  enjoyed,  that  a  sight  of  him  under  present 
circumstances,  but  added  to  the  full  tide  of  feeling. 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Oakum,  "  this  has  been  all  your  doing." 

"  By  no  means,  my  dear  madam  ;  Sam  alone  has  devised  it, 
and  his  own  honest  earnings  have  paid  the  cost." 

"  Yes,  I  have  no  doubt  of  that,  and  Heaven's  blessing  he 


184  JAMES   MONT  JOY!     OR, 


will  have  for  it ;  but  you  first  took  him  by  the  hand  and  en 
couraged  him,  and — " 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Oakum,  we  will  not  go  so  far  back  now,  and 
besides  I  could  no  more  have  done  without  Sam,  than  he  felt 
he  could  do  without  me ;  but  we  must  clear  up  our  faces  and 
prepare  for  company,  for  this  matter  will  fly  like  the  wind 
when  it  gets  abroad,  and  you  will  have  the  whole  town  here 
to  see  you." 

Commodore  Trysail  was  one  of  those  specimens  of  hu 
manity  with  which  we  occasionally  meet,  where  a  rough  ex 
terior  and  a  blunt  manner  conceal  a  warm  and  tender  heart. 
In  all  matters  of  business  he  was  prompt,  correct,  and  very 
decided,  a  little  tenacious  of  authority  when  he  saw  any  dis 
position  to  slight  his  orders,  but  allowing  great  latitude, 
whenever  he  knew  there  was  a  desire  to  please  and  obey  him. 

Old  Peter,  who  had  accompanied  the  family  of  Major 
Morris  to  their  new  residence,  was  quite  a  favorite  with  the 
commodore,  and  as  the  two  families  were  but  a  short  dis 
tance  apart,  with  the  exception  that  Peter  had  his  hammock 
slung  in  one  of  the  major's  out-buildings — he  was  as  much 
at  home  at  one  house  as  the  other. 

It  was  one  part  of  Peter's  business  to  watch  the  coming 
in  of  the  mail  and  see  that  the  letters  and  papers  for  either 
family  were  distributed  in  the  quickest  possible  time ;  also 
to  attend  upon  the  departure  and  arrival  of  the  sloop,  as 
there  was  always  something  to  go  or  come  by  that  convey 
ance,  it  being  the  only  regular  one  to  and  from  the  city ; 
this  part  of  Peter's  duty  he  performed  with  special  pleasure  ; 
Sam  had  ever  been  a  favorite  of  his,  and  he  never  tired  of 
telling  over  what  he  knew  of  him  when  a  boy,  and  extolling 
his  fine  appearance,  his  activity  and  his  correct  conduct  in 
all  things,  now  that  he  had  grown  to  be  a  man. 

Between  the  commodore  and  Peter,  Sain  was  often  a  sub 
ject  of  conversation,  until  all  that  Peter  knew  of  his  favorite 
had  been  many  times  repeated. 

On  this  day,  so  distinguished  in  the  life  of  his  hero,  Pe 
ter  not  only  brought  along  from  the  boat  quite  a  number  of 
parcels,  but  he  had  also  a  weighty  cargo  of  news,  which  he 
had  gathered  on  his  way  back.  After  giving  Lady  Morris, 
as  he  always  styled  her,  the  first  of  the  tidings,  he  hastened 
to  the  commodore's  as  fast  as  his  crutches  would  carry  him. 

It  was  a  warm  afternoon,  and  the  commodore  was  seated 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  185 

in  his  veranda  on  the  shady  side  of  the  house,  enjoying  the 
cooling  view  of  the  expanse  of  water  spread  out  before  him, 
and  the  gentle  breeze  that  scarce  moved  the  long  branches 
of  the  willow  that  hung  above  and  around  him,  when  he 
heard  the  well-known  sound  of  the  crutches  stumping  along 
the  hard  gravel  path  at  double  quick  time.  Peter  was  so 
much  out  of  breath  and  so  excited  with  what  he  had  to  tell, 
that  after  he  had  reached  the  stoop  and  taken  off  his  hat 
and  smoothed  down  his  queue  and  made  several  obeisances, 
he  could  only  stammer  out, 

"  Your  honor — " 

The  commodore  looked  at  him  with  no  little  surprise,  for 
the  preparation  Peter  had  made  betokened  quite  a  long  yarn. 

"A  warm  day,  Peter." 

"  Very,  your  honor,"  and  Peter  fumbled  away  at  his 
queue  and  twisted  his  quid  to  all  sides  of  his  mouth. 

l-  You  are  out  of  breath,  Peter,  what  is  the  haste  to-day  ? 
any  news  stirring?" 

"  Great  news,  your  honor,  great  news." 

"  Is  war  declared,  or  has  the  comet  lost  its  tail  ?  let  me 
hear  ;  out  with  it,  Peter." 

"  No  war,  your  honor.  God  forbid:  and  I  guess  the  comet 
is  whizzing  away  yet,  though  we  can't  see  him  by  daylight ; 
but  your  honor  knows  that  picture  of  a  house  up  along  the 
bank  there — " 

"  Ay,  ay — what,  the  house  that  has  no  owner  ?  and  a  pretty 
box  it  is  ;  what  of  it,  Peter  ?" 

"  But  it  has  got  an  owner,  and  who  does  your  honor  think 
it  is?  Our  Captain'  Sam  ;  he's  built  it  'spressly  for  his  fa 
ther  and  mother,  God  bless  him !  and  he's  rigged  it  all  up 
for  'em,  and  he's  put  'em  in  it  this  blessed  day,  and  there 
they  are,  as  happy  as  ever  your  honor  was  in  a  tight,  new 
ship.  And  now  he  says,  '  Good-by  to  the  old  sloop,  Peter ; 
I've  got  the  old  folks  snug  and  happy,  and  now  I  am  going 
to  steer  my  way  on  the  broad  ocean,  just  as  you  have  always 
been  wishing  me  to  do.'  That's  just  what  he  said,  your 
honor  ;  God  bless  him." 

The  commodore  was  a  match  for  Peter  with  the  tobacco 
any  day,  and  whenever  a  little  excited,  was  sure  to  clap  his 
finger  and  thumb  into  his  vest  pocket,  where  there  was  gen 
erally  a  supply  ready  cut  up  of  suitable  length.  As  Peter 


186  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

concluded  his  tale,  the  commodore  began  to  fumble  for  a 
charge. 

"  Peter,  I'm  out ;  hand  me  that  bit  of  yarn  you  are  cut 
ting  from."  i 

"  Bless  your  honor,  not  this ;  no,  no ;"  and  taking  out  a 
package  that  had  filled  the  whole  capacity  of  his  jacket 
pocket,  "  here  is  some,  your  honor,  the  boys  have  put  up  for 
me  to-day  (Peter  had  the  run  of  the  store  free),  bless  their 
kind  hearts.  It's  bran  new,  your  honor  ;  take  it  all  and  wel 
come.'1 

Having  untied  the  roll,  cut  off  a  liberal  allowance,  and 
given  two  or  three  squeezes  to  the  delicious  morsel, 

"  Do  you  say,  Peter,  that  he  has  built  that  handsome 
place  for  his  father  and  mother,  and  furnished  it,  and  given 
it  to  them  out  and  out  ?" 

(-  It's  God's  truth,  your  honor." 

"  Well,  Peter,  all  I  can  say  is,  that  he  has  got  more  of  a 
sailor's  heart  in  him  than  I  thought  he  had ;  and  do  you 
think  that  is  the  reason  why  he  has  been  shoaling  along 
shore  here,  when  we  have  all  been  wondering  why  such  a 
smart  young  fellow  didn't  try  to  climb  a  little  higher  in  the 
world?" 

"  Nothing  else,  as  sure  as  that  water  is  runnin'  to  the 
ocean.  I  always  tell'd  your  honor,  Capt.  Sam  would  come 
out  bright ;  he  wasn't  never  made  for  a  land  lubber,  your 
honor  :  his  heart  is  too  big,  too  big  for  that,  I  always  knowed 
it  was." 

"  And  I  suppose  the  old  folks  are  very  happy.  Did  they 
know  of  it  before  ?" 

"  Never,  your  honor,  till  this  blessed  day ;  and  when  I 
com'd  along  by  there,  Miss  Mary  came  runnin'  out ;  '  Come 
in.  Peter,  come  in  and  see  our  new  house ;'  and  so  in  I  goes, 
and  sich  a  sight  your  honor  never  see ;  there  was  the  mother 
with  the  tears  a  runnin',  and  the  father  lookin'  as  if  he  had 
been  standin'  eight-and-forty  hours  facing  a  nor'wester,  and 
the  galls  and  all  hold  on  me,  and  showing  me  every  thing, 
and  making  me  eat  and  drink ;  it's  the  happiest  family,  your 
honor,  I  believe  there  is  at  this  moment  on  the  breathin' 
earth  ;  I  was  no  better  than  a  baby  myself,  your  honor." 

"  Peter,  do  you  go  this  minute,  do  you  hear?" — Peter  had 
like  not  to  have  heard,  for  he  was  on  his  way  going  some- 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  187 


where,  he  knew  not  exactly  for  what — "  and  toll  Harry  to 
rig  up  the  carriage,  and — do  you  hear,  Peter?" 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir."  Peter  was  hardly  within  hailing  dis 
tance. 

"  Tell  Mrs.  Morris  that  I  shall  call  for  her." 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir." 

"  Bless  my  soul !  he's  a  fine  fellow."  The  Commodore 
was  now  walking  up  and  down  very  fast :  "  Something  must 

be  done  for  him  ;  he  must  let  that  old  sloop  go  to  the ; ' 

the  Commodore  was  not  always  particular  where  he  sent 
things,  so  that  they  were  out  of  his  way. 

There  are  green  spots  in  this  world  of  ours,  which  tempt 
us  to  forget  that  it  is  a  fallen  world,  and  point  us  in  their 
exhibition  of  true  enjoyment  to  what  it  might  have  been, 
and  what  it  may  yet  be.  There  are  pleasures  that  seem  so 
unalloyed  by  selfish,  earthly  dross,  we  almost  feel  the  breath 
of  heaven  fanning  our  spirits,  while  we  mingle  in  them. 

Such  was  the  bright  and  pleasant  scene  that  Sam  had 
lighted  up  within  that  circle  of  domestic  love,  his  home. 

Nor  was  there  any  lack  of  friends  that  day  to  greet  them 
kindly,  or  to  sympathize  in  their  joy.  The  tidings  soon 
spread,  as  James  said  they  would,  and  neighbor  after  neigh 
bor  came  dropping  in,  some,  no  doubt,  to  gratify  their  curi 
osity,  but  many,  many  more  to  give  utterance  to  the  joy  they 
really  felt. 

It  was  about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  when  the 
equipage  of  Commodore  Trysail  drove  up.  The  old  gentle 
man  was  a  sailor,  and  not  very  particular  when  dealing  with 
men,  at  least  not  always  so,  to  polish  either  his  language  or 
his  manners ;  but  in  the  company  of  ladies,  he  never  forgot 
the  respect  due  to  them  ;  he  was  mild  and  courteous,  no 
matter  how  humble  the  individual  or  the  circle  to  which  he 
was  introduced.  Mrs:  Morris  was  no  stranger  to  the  family ; 
she  had  often  visited  them  in  their  lonely  home,  and  by  her 
affable  and  kind  manners  had  won  their  hearts. 

No  wonder,  then,  that  the  girls  ran  with  such  haste  to 
welcome  her,  and  conducted  her  into  their  new  abode,  with 
feelings,  if  not  of  pride,  at  least  of  heart-felt  pleasure.  She 
kissed  them  as  they  met  her  at  the  door. 

"  I  wish  you  joy,  my  dear  good  girls,  with  all  my  heart. 
Mrs.  Oakum,  I  congratulate  you  on  your  entrance  into  such 


188  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

a  pretty  home  ;  it  is  a  sweet  place  ; — but  it  must  be  doubly 
sweet  arid  precious  to  you  under  all  the  circumstances." 

Mrs.  Oakum  could  not  reply ;  tears  alone  responded  to 
the  kind  greeting. 

"  But  where  is  that  noble  fellow,  Sam  ?  I  must  call  him 
so  yet — where  is  he  ?" 

"  He  has  run  away.  Do  you  think,  Mrs.  Morris,"  said 
Mary,  "  he  found  the  neighbors  began  to  come  in,  and  off  he 
went." 

"  Do  you  tell  him  for  me,  he's  a  pretty  fellow  ;  and  that 
I  shall  expect  a  visit  from  him  expressly  in  return  for  this." 

The  Commodore  had  been  detained  at  the  door  a  moment, 
in  offering  his  whole-soul  congratulations  to  Sam's  father. 
As  he  entered  the  room,  Mrs.  Morris  formally  introduced 
him  to  the  mother  and  sisters.  Bowing  very  low  to  Mrs. 
Oakum, 

"  Madam,  I  do  not  wonder  that  your  feelings  are  excited  ; 
he  is  a  noble  boy,  and  you  have  every  reason  to  be  proud  of 
him." 

"  He  has  ever  been  a  dear,  good  child,  sir." 

"  Yes ;  I  have  no  doubt  of  that,  madam  ;  and  I  suspect 
he  has  had  a  dear,  good  mother.  Ah  !  it  is  these  mothers 
that  make  men  what  they  ought  to  be.  I  had  a  dear,  good 
mother  once,  I  never  shall  forget  her;  she  taught  me  a  great 
many  good  things,  when  she  used  to  lean  over  me  in  my  bed. 
What  a  different  man  I  should  have  been  had  I  minded 
her ;  but,  thank  God,  I  hope  I  have  not  forgotten  them  all." 

A  tear  might  have  been  seen  just  then  bedewing  an  eye 
that  had  met  the  shock  of  battle  and  the  rush  of  the  tempest 
without  a  twinkle. 

."But,  bless  my  soul !  are  these  two  cherubs  your  daugh 
ters  ? — a  kiss,  girls,  a  kiss  ;  I  cannot  look  at  such  lips  without 
a  taste." 

There  was  no  affectation  or  prudery  in  their  honest  hearts, 
and  they  received  a  hearty  salutation  without  blushing,  any 
more  than  might  have  been  expected. 

"  Thank  you,  rny  darlings !  But  I  tell  you  what, 
don't  let  the  young  men  ever  have  a  taste ;  it  will  set  them 
crazy." 

"  Do  you  think,  Commodore,"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  "our  hero 
has  betaken  himself  away  !" 

"  The  rogue  !     I  wanted  to  have  given  him  a  good  sailor's 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  189 


squeeze  ;  and  to  tell  him  how  happy  I  am  to  find  that  he  has 
a  true  sailor's  heart.  -But  I  see  how  it  is;  he  had  rather  do 
a  good  .deed  than  be  praised  for  it.  Wftl  you  tell  him  for 
me,  madam,"  turning  to  Mrs.  Oakum,  "  that  I  should  be 
pleased  to  see  him  at  my  house  as  early  to-morrow  morning 
as  his  engagements  will  permit  ?  Again,  allow  me,  madam, 
to  wish  you  much  happiness  in  your  new  abode,  and  many, 
many  years  to  enjoy  it  in."  And  turning  his  eye  towards 
the  girls — ':  Keep  a  sharp  look-out  for  these  two  little  mis 
chief-makers.  Ay,  ay.  you  laugh,  do  you  ?  It's  all  fun  to 
you,  no  doubt ;  but  it  will  be  no  fun  to  the  young  men's  hearts. 
Good  day,  and  God's  blessing  with  you  all." 

The  Commodore  bowed  to  the  whole  circle,  and  offering 
his  arm  to  Mrs.  Morris,  led  her  to  the  carriage. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"  MR.  OAKUM,  good  morning  to  you ;  you  will  excuse  me 
for  omitting  your  title ;  although,  if  you  must  have  it,  I 
should  prefer  the  one  which  your  old  friend  Peter  has  adopt 
ed,  and  call  you  Captain  Sam.  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  sir ; 
walk  in." 

All  this  was  said  at  the  door  of  the  Commodore's  office,  and 
•while  he  was  shaking  the  hand  of  the  young  man  with  great 
cordiality.  This  office  was  a  small  addition  to  his  handsome 
mansion,  jutting  out  from  one  end,  and  into  which  was  an 
entrance  externally  and  independent  of  the  passage  ill  the 
main  building. 

Sam  had  made  the  call  at  the  office  door,  and  was  met 
with  the  greeting  as  stated  above. 

There  was  a  great  disparity  in  their  personal  appearance, 
and  yet  either  of  them  would  have  been  handsome  models  to 
represent  their  different  ages  and  standing  in  society.  The 
Commodore's  large,  full,  portly  form,  ruddy  face,  dark-gray 
eyes  and  powdered  hair  would  well  represent  the  retired 
commander  of  sixty-five :  while  the  trim  and  agile  frame,  the 
sun-burnt  face,  the  raven  locks,  the  sparkling,  hazel,  deep- 
set  and  deeply-shaded  eye  would  have  answered  well  the 


190  JAMES   MONTJOY  J     OR, 


idea  of  a  young  adventurer,  ready  to  commence  the  untried 
dangers  of  the  deep.  Sam  was  decidedly  a  handsome  fellow ; 
and  whether  his  sisters  had  been  fixing  him  out  that  morning 
I  cannot  say,  but  he  was  dressed  with  much  care ;  too  much, 
some  might  think,  for  his  calling.  It  was,  however,  of  the 
true  sailor  fashion ;  and  if,  when  engaged  in  his  work,  he 
was  a  whole  man,  we  can  leave  such  matters  to  his  fancy. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  Mr.  Oakum,  for  requesting  you  to 
call  upon  me,  or  for  the  inquiries  I  may  put  to  you ;  as  I 
have  a  plan  in  view,  which  I  should  think  would  be  more 
congenial  to  a  young  man  of  your  abilities,  than  dodging 
back  and  forth  in  that  little  sloop." 

'•  I  am  very  happy,  sir,  to  wait  upon  you,  and  will  very 
thankfully  listen  to  any  views  you  may  please  to  commu 
nicate." 

"First,  then,  I  wish  you  to  state  what  are  your  plans  for  the 
future.  I  have  heard  through  Peter — I  give  you  my  authority 
— that  you  design  to  leave  your  present  business  If  you 
have  no  objections,  my  young  friend,  make  a  clean  breast  to 
me ;  I  want  to  hear  all  about  you." 

Sam  smiled.  "  Why,  sir,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  am  re 
ally  tired,  as  you  say,  of  '  dodging  about  in  the  sloop  ;'  but 
hitherto  duty  has  kept  me  at  the  helm,  very  much  against 
my  inclination." 

"  Glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  Duty,  sir,  is  a  glorious  mas 
ter,  although  sometimes  he  drives  us  sadly  against  our  wills. 
Then  you  have  resolved  to  start  upon  a  new  course  ?" 

"  I  have,  sir." 

"  But  the  sea  will  be  a  new  business  for  you.  Your  cruise 
along  shore  cannot  have  fitted  you  for  what  you  will  meet 
with  there." 

"  I  have  anticipated  that,  sir ;  and  have  already  made 
three  short  voyages." 

Sam  saw  that  the  Commodore  appeared  much  pleased 
with  this  information. 

"  Since  you  have  so  kindly  requested  me,  sir,  to  tell  you 
my  past  doings  and  present  plans,  I  will  presume  upon  the 
permission,  and  do  so." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  wish,  sir." 

"  The  sloop,  which  seems  of  late  to  have  been  a  trouble 
to  many  of  my  good  friends,  besides  the  kind-hearted  old 
Peter  (Major  Morris  had  n<3t  been  backward  to  d»p  some 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  191 

broad  hints  in  reference  to  it),  was  once  the  object  of  my 
highest  ambition ;  but  like  many  objects  when  attained, 
seemed  only  as  a  stepping-stone  to  something  after  which  my 
imagination  panted,  and  for  which,  I  must  confess,  I  have 
been  at  times  too  restless.  But  an  end  I  had  in  view,  and 
which  I  saw  I  could  accomplish  by  retaining  my  situation 
in  the  sloop,  has  enabled  me  to  continue  at  my  post,  although 
I  must  say  against  my  fancy." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  and  let  me  tell  you,  my  young  friend,  it  was 
a  noble  end,  and  you  will  be  a  gainer,  a  great  gainer  by  it  in 
the  long-run ;  but," — seeing  that  Sam  was  blushing  very 
much,  and  apparently  getting  into  a  state  of  confusion, — 
"  pardon  me  for  interrupting  you ;  please  go  on,  and  tell  me 
the  whole  story." 

"Intending,  so  soon  as  that  object  was  accomplished, 
to  launch  forth  and  push  my  way  upon  the  ocean,  I  em 
braced  an  opportunity  afforded  me,  during  the  season  of 
the  year  when  our  navigation  is  obstructed,  to  make  a  short 
voyage.  Three  several  times  I  have  been,  and  the  last  was 
of  peculiar  advantage  to  me ;  for  experiencing  a  hurricane 
just  after  we  left  Havana,  the  captain  and  chief  mate  were 
washed  overboard,  by  a  heavy  sea  that  swept  our  decks,  and 
the  second  mate  did  not  know  enough  to  keep  the  reckoning  ; 
so,  at  the  request  of  all  hands,  I  took  charge  of  the  brig  ;  and 
although  we  encountered  two  severe  gales,  brought  her  safely 
into  port." 

The  Commodore  rose,  and  walking  across  the  room,  turned 
and  fixed  his  keen  eye  full  on  Sam. 

"You  ought  to  have  been  handsomely  rewarded  for  that, 
sir.  Was  no  notice  taken  of  it  by  the  owners  or  the  under 
writers  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir" — and  Sam  drew  forth  a  fine  gold  watch — > 
"  this  is  their  token ;  but  I  should  have  preferred  the  offer 
of  the  brig  ;  she  was  a  fine  vessel ;  but  I  suppose  they  had 
friends  who  laid  a  stronger  claim  than  I  could." 

"  Thus,  you  have  no  hesitation  as  to  your  ability  to  take 
sole  command  of  a  vessel  to  any  quarter  of  the  world  ?" 

"  I  have  not,  sir." 

"And  you  are  willing  to  do  so?" 

"  I  .am  very  anxious  to  do  so,  sir,  if  I  can  find  any  owners 
willing  to  trust  me." 

The  Commodore  resumed  his  seat. 


192  JAMES  MONTJOY;    OR, 

"  Mr.  Oakum,  you  must  be  well  aware  that  our  country 
is  at  present  in  a  critical  situation  ;  war  is  inevitable  ;  I  think 
so,  I  am  confident  of  it.  The  danger,  then,  in  commercial 
navigation  will  be  of  a  very  serious  nature.  I  am,  as  you 
know,  somewhat  engaged  in  the  trade  to  China  ;  two  of  my 
vessels  are  now  on  the  way  there ;  one  of  these  will  not  re 
turn  for  some  time,  and  the  other  is  to  receive  a  cargo  in  the 
usual  manner,  and  will  probably  be  back  a  little  short  of  one 
year  ;  but  I  fear  that,  before  six  months  come  round,  we  shall 
be  at  war  with  Great  Britain.  They  have  treated  us  shame 
fully  ;  and  if  we  were  only  prepared  for  it,  which  we  are  not, 
I  could  wish  the  tussle  might  begin  at  once.  These  are  my 
feelings  as  a  citizen.  But  I  must  make  what  preparation  I 
can,  to  secure  my  personal  interest  against  an  evil  which  I 
foresee.  My  design  is  to  hasten  the  return  of  one  of  my 
ships,  with  her  cargo,  by  all  possible  means.  You  know  that 
I  have  just  completed  a  beautiful  schooner;  she  will  sail 
like  a  witch.  I  have  resolved  to  send  her  express  to  China, 
and  I  now  offer  you  the  command  of  her." 

Sam  arose,  and  was  about  to  thank  the  Commodore  for 
the  generous  offer. 

u  Please  be  seated,  Mr.  Oakum,  you  have  not  heard  the 
end  of  the  story  yet.  I  have  business  of  importance  to  be 
attended  to  in  China,  and  the  captain  of  the  ship  I  design 
to  order  back  must  remain  there,  and  you.  sir,  will  take  his 
place.  On  your  arrival  out,  you  will  find  yourself  master  of 
as  fine  a  ship  as  swims  the  ocean." 

Sam  could  contain  himself  no  longer ;  he  arose  from  his 
seat. 

"  Commodore  Trysail,  I  know  not  how  to  express  the  deep 
sense  I  feel  of  obligation  to  you — it  is  the  happiest  moment 
of  my  life,  sir." 

The  Commodore  grasped  the  hand  of  the  young  and  ar 
dent  sailor,  and  was  delighted  to  see  the  flash  of  joy  and 
pride  that  sparkled  forth  from  his  bright  eye. 

:'  You  may  thank  yourself,  Mr.  Oakum,  and  the  manly 
efforts  you  have  made  to  improve  your  advantages." 

Just  then  the  office  door  was  gently  opened,  and  a  shaggy 
head  appeared,  nodding  very  significantly,  but  saying  noth 
ing. 

"  Well,  Peter,  any  thing  new  stirring  ?" 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  193 


"  Why,  I  thought  your  honor  would  be  pleased  to  know 
that  the  Major  had  arrived,  and  the  young  lady." 

"What — has  Major  Morris  returned,  and  Susie  with 
him?  that  is  good  news." 

Peter's  head  was  immediately  withdrawn,  and  he  was 
heard  stumping  it  away  at  a  rapid  rate. 

"  It  will  be  no  child's  play,  Mr.  Oakum,  as  you  will  find, 
bringing  that  vessel  home  ;  for  I  am  determined,  war  or  no 
war,  that  you  must  get  her  into  port  at  all  hazards,  and  if 
I  did  not  think  that  you  would  prove  a  man  in  the  hour  of 
extremity,  depend  upon  it,  sir,  I  should  never  confide  such 
a  trust  to  you.  The  risk  of  loss  I  expect  to  run  ;  and  after 
you  have  done  your  best,  should  you  fall  into  the  enemies' 
hands,  you  will  not  be  in  the  least  to  blame.  The  man 
agement  of  every  thing  in  reference  to  this  matter  I 
leave  entirely  to  yourself.  My  schooner  is  ready  for 
you.  She  is  under  your  command ;  select  your  own  crew, 
and  hands  enough  to  make  a  double  crew  for  the  ship  on  her 
return." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

MR.  G-EORGE  RUTHERFORD,  as  I  have  hinted  in  a  former 
chapter,  was  becoming  entangled  in  his  pecuniary  circum 
stances  ;  he  had  no  fears  as  yet  that  he  should  not  be  able 
to  pay  every  obligation  and  have  a  competency  left ;  but  his 
sensitive  spirit  was  keenly  alive  to  that  kind  of  humiliating 
deference  which  is  always  more  or  less  demanded  and  re 
ceived  by  those  who,  more  calculating  in  their  habits,  keep 
their  capital  at  command,  and  are  enabled  to  exchange  their 
ready  money  for  the  borrower's  security. 

But  whatever  annoyance  or  inward  torment  he  suffered, 
was  carefully  concealed  within  his  own  breast ;  he  could  not 
bear  to  throw  a  shade  over  the  bright  and  joyous  heart  of 
his  wife. 

It  was,  however,  impossible  that  one  who  loved  with  such 

entire  devotedness,  should  not  perceive  when  some  dark  and 

troublous  cloud  lay  upon  the  object  of  her  affection.    Often 

would  she  come  to  him  as  he  sat  musing,  at  the  close  of  day, 

9 


194  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

and  leaning  fondly  on  the  breast  where  all  her  woman's  joys 
and  hopes  were  cloistered,  and  smoothing  down  the  marks 
of  care  which  to  her  keen  eye  appeared  to  be  growing  deeper 
than  they  ought — 

"  What  is  it,  George  ?  does  any  thing  trouble  you  ?  these 
wrinkles  are  truly  beginning  to  be  permanent.  Do  tell  me, 
and  let  me  share  it  with  you." 

And  then  he  would  smile  and  kiss  the  fair  hand,  and  say, 

"  Nothing,  dear  Mary,  nothing  worth  telling — there  are 
a  thousand  little  vexations  and  cares  in  life  you  know,  for 
gotten  as  soon  as  past ;  they  help  to  make  the  marks  upon 
us  I  suppose,  and  thus  show  that  they  have  been — nothing, 
dear  Mary." 

But  by  degrees  accumulated  strokes  began  to  bear  most 
seriously  upon  him  ;  his  property  melted  away  by  little  and 
little — at  one  time  an  unwise  act  of  friendship,  at  another 
an  unsuccessful  negotiation  in  trade,  or  may  be  a  sharper's 
trick ;  there  seemed  to  be  always  some  cause  at  work  to 
drive  away  his  means  and  keep  up  the  festering  sore  within. 

He  had  become  largely  implicated  in  establishing  a  store 
near  to  the  property  he  owned  in  the  barrens,  in  order  to  af 
ford  an  opposition  to  Mr.  Cross,  hoping  thereby  to  alleviate 
the  condition  of  the  poor  laborers ;  but  the  person  who  man 
aged  the  business  proved  to  be  no  match  for  the  wily  Cross, 
and  it  only  served  to  excite  his  adversary  to  bitter  revenge. 

He  had.  also,  become  involved  more  seriously  than  he  as 
yet  had  any  idea  of  himself,  with  a  company  that  were  en 
gaged  in  working  a  quarry. 

The  prospects  held  out  to  him  were  very  flattering,  as 
such  things  usually  are  when  presented  by  interested  and 
designing  persons  ;  but  as  each  year  passed  by  with  no  profit 
realized,  and  a  fresh  demand  for  money  to  carry  on  their 
operations,  too  confiding  to  suspect  those  whose  bad  manage 
ment  ought  to  have  awakened  his  doubts,  he  suffered  his 
purse  to  be  drained,  and,  worse  than  all,  suffered  his  name 
and  credit  to  be  used. 

Manfully  had  he  borne  up  under  all  his  reverses,  shrink 
ing  from  no  loss  nor  responsibility,  which,  however  un 
wisely  brought  upon  himself,  was  still  his  own  act,  and  there 
fore  sacred  as  his  honor. 

At  length  a  storm,  he  saw,  was  rising  fast,  and  spreading 
its  dark  and  gloomy  mantle  over  him.  He  could  not  avert 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  195 

its  fury ;  with  fortitude,  with  a  firm  determination  to  main 
tain  his  integrity,  he  awaited  the  catastrophe. 

The  first  blow,  which  came  with  much  severity,  was  in 
the  failure  of  Bolton,  the  individual  whom  he  had  estab 
lished  in  trade  near  the  barrens.  Many  were  involv 
ed  in  that  calamity,  and  he  was  compelled,  in  order  to 
meet  the  demands  which  would  be  made  upon  him  in  conse 
quence,  to  use  all  his  means  and  his  utmost  ingenuity  to 
maintain  his  credit,  now  become  of  vital  importance  to  him. 
Troubles,  at  times,  overtake  us  like  the  tiding-bearers  to  the 
Patriarch  of  old  ;  scarce  has  one  sad  tale  been  uttered,  whan 
another  is  ready  to  begin. 

Mr.  Rutherford  had  passed  a  sleepless  night ;  the  long 
hours  had  been  spent  in  running  over  the  sad  circuit  of  his 
misfortunes,  and  in  endeavoring  to  extricate  himself  from 
the  tangled  maze  in  which  he  was  involved.  Beside  him  in 
peaceful  slumber  lay  the  partner  of  his  heart.  She  would 
most  willingly  have  been  the  partner  of  his  cares,  and  spent 
the  day  and  night  in  labor  either  of  body  or  of  mind  ;  but  no — 
he  must  not,  he  cannot  disturb  the  quiet  of  her  bosom ;  he 
will  yet,  he  fondly  hopes,  weather  it  through,  and  she  shall 
never  know  the  struggle  his  spirit  has  borne ;  and  thus  it 
would  have  been,  and  thus  his  proud  and  tender  heart  would 
have  ached  in  secret,  and  cloistered  all  its  trials  until  it  broke 
beneath  the  aecumulated  load — but  a  kind  Providence  was 
watching  around  his  sleepless  bed,  and  knew  all  that  he  could 
bear,  and  was  preparing  the  way  that  would,  in  spite  of  him 
self,  break  open  his  secret  sorrows,  and  compel  him  to  un 
bosom  himself  to  her,  whose  beautiful  spirit,  with  an  angel's 
power,  would  pour  out  its  sweet  consolations  into  his  troubled 
heart,  brace  up  his  worn-out  feelings,  and  lay  them  calmly 
to  rest  amid  the  soothings  of  love  ;  earthly,  it  may  be,  but  a 
bright  emblem  of  that,  in  which  the  weary  soul  will  sweetly 
repose  when  the  trials  and  toils  of  life  are  over. 

The  watching  and  busy  thoughts  of  the  night  past  were 
too  visible  the  next  morning  to  escape  the  eye  of  love,  and 
as  his  Mary  entered  the  room  where  he  was  seated,  waiting 
for  their  early  meal,  she  could  not  help  saying  to  him, 

"  You  are  sick,  dear  George,  I  know  you  are." 

Before  he  could  reply  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door, 
and  Mr.  Rutherford  was  summoned  into  an  adjoining  apart 
ment. 


196  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

The  gentleman  expressed  his  regret  for  the  business 
upon  which  he  had  come  ;  he  handed  to  Mr.  R.  a  paper,  which 
proved  to  be  an  attachment  upon  his  beautiful  homestead  and 
the  land  connected  with  it. 

"  You  have,  no  doubt,  heard,  sir,  that  the  quarry  company 
has  gone  to  pieces,  and  as  you  appear  to  be  the  only  respon 
sible  one  among  them,  the  person  named  in  that  paper,  and 
to  whom  they  are  largely  indebted,  feels  compelled  to  take 
this  step,  although  very  reluctantly." 

This  explanation  was  sufficient ;  Mr.  Rutherford  per 
ceived  the  dilemma  to  which  things  had  at  length  come.  His 
visitor,  having  no  further  business,  withdrew,  and  as  he 
closed  the  door  upon  him,  he  retired  again  by  himself,  and 
was  seated  by  a  table  with  the  paper  in  his  hand,  when  his 
wife  entered  the  room  and  closed  the  door. 

"  My  dear  George,  you  must  let  me  know  what  is  the 
matter.  You  cannot  hide  from  me,  that  there  is  some  great 
trouble  upon  you.  Tell  me,  my  dear  husband,  tell  me  what 
it  is" — and  she  threw  herself  upon  her  knees  before  him,  and 
clasping  her  arms  about  him,  looked  up  with  intense  interest 
beaming  from  her  dark  hazel  eye. 

"  We  are  ruined,  Mary  !  my  property,  the  inheritance  of 
my  ancestors,  is  all,  I  fear,  to  be  swept  away  from  me." 

"And  you  have  known  this,  George,  a  long  time,  and 
have  been  bearing  the  trouble  all  alone  in  your  own  breast. 
Why  have  you  done  this,  and  not  let  me  be  a  sharer  of  your 
sufferings  ?" 

"  Oh,  Mary,  how  could  I  do  it  ?  It  was  out  of  your  power 
to  stop  the  torrent  I  have  been  contending  against,  and  I 
could  not  bear  to  disturb  your  quiet." 

"  My  dear  George,  how  little  do  you  understand  of  a 
woman's  love ;  bright  and  pleasant  things  do  not  always  sat 
isfy  its  warm  desire.  I  had  rather  suffer  with  you,  and  for 
you,  my  dear  husband,  the  sharpest  pangs,  and  feel  the  direst 
vicissitudes  of  life,  if  I  could  only  prove  to  you,  how  much 
dearer  to  me  is  your  love  than  all  things  else  on  earth." 

As  she  said  this  her  bright  eye  was  softened  with  a  tear, 
and  it  told  so  truly  with  the  words  she  had  just  uttered,  all 
the  meaning  of  her  soul,  that  he  clasped  her  to  his  bosom. 

"  My  love,  my  life,  my  heart's  richest  treasure  !  may  God 
bless  you  for  all  the  comfort  you  have  been  to  me,  and  for  all 
you  are  now." 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  197 


Sorrow,  thou  child  of  sin,  strong  and  terrible  as  is  thy 
power,  and  crushing  as  is  the  weight  of  thy  hand,  when 
pressed  on  us  worms  of  the  dust,  yet  know  thou,  there  is 
an  antidote,  a  precious  gift  of  Heaven,  when  by  man's 
sin  all  blessings  which  his  God  had  given  were  justly  for 
feited  ; — this  antidote  is  love :  when  fixed  on  God,  it  bows 
the  spirit  into  childlike  confidence,  clinging  the  closer  to  the 
heavenly  hand,  the  heavier  the  blow.  And  when  two  kin 
dred  souls  on  earth  have  merged  their  hopes,  their  fears,  their 
interests,  their  warm  desires,  their  whole  hearts'  sympathies 
in  one  strong  true  embrace,  there  is  so  much  of  heaven's 
own  happiness  in  it,  that  spite  of  all  the  anguish  under  which 
at  times  they  bow,  this  sweet  and  subtile  charmer  steals 
within,  spreads  a  calm  upon  the  bosom  of  the  waters,  hushes 
all  to  peace,  and  bids  them  still  be  happy. 

And  now  she  sits  beside  him,  and  he  tells  her  all  his 
strange  trials,  and  how  dark  his  prospects  are. 

"  It  must  all  go,  Mary." 

"  Well,  my  dear  husband,  let  it  all  go ;  your  own  sweet 
spirit  is  unstained  by  one  wrong  or  mean  act ;  you  have  never 
withheld  a  righteous  due ;  you  have  never  ground  the  face 
of  the  poor ;  you  have  never  triumphed  over  those  beneath 
you  ;  you  have  rather  tried  to  raise  them  to  your  own  level : 
and  now  let  poverty  come,  it  cannot  sink  our  spirits,  so  long 
as  there  is  no  blot  on  your  fair  fame,  and  no  stain  on  your 
pure  conscience." 

Rutherford  was  manly  in  his  feelings,  but  he  could  not 
repress  a  starting  tear.  His  lovely  wife,  without  a  sigh, 
had  let  go  all  that  wealth  could  hold  out  to  her,  and  was 
clinging  to  her  husband's  virtues,  and  holding  them  up  be 
fore  him  to  encourage  his  sinking  heart. 

"  Yes,  Mary,  that  is  true.  I  believe  I  can  truly  say  with 
Job :  '  If  I  have  withheld  the  poor  from  their  desire,  or  have 
caused  the  eyes  of  the  widow  to  fail,  or  have  eaten  my  morsel 
myself  alone,  and  the  fatherless  have  not  eaten  thereof:  if  I 
have  seen  any  perish  for  want  of  clothing,  or  any  poor  with 
out  covering,  then  let  my  arm  fall  from  my  shoulder-blade, 
and  mine  arm  be  broken  from  the  bone.'  " 

"  I  know  it,  my  dear  husband,  I  know  it ;  and  as  you  have 
acted  in  the  fear  of  God,  his  strength  will  be  our  refuge." 


198  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  shades  of  evening  had  settled  upon  that  retired 
spot,  the  stronghold  of  Mr.  Cross  up  in  the  barrens.  The 
doors  and  windows  of  his  long,  low  building,  were  closed  ;  a 
light  was  burning  on  the  counter,  beside  which  were  seated  the 
owner  of  the  premises  and  a  companion,  very  unlike  him  in 
appearance,  whatever  similarity  there  might  be  in  the  temper 
of  their  hearts — Mr.  Cross  having  rather  a  round  and  plump 
carcass,  with  cheeks  filled  out.  and  bearing  the  hue  which  a 
liberal  allowance  of  gin  and  water  usually  imparts.  The  other 
was  altogtther  of  the  mummy  order  ;  his  body  thin  and  bent 
over,  his  limbs  long  and  bony,  with  a  loose  furrowed  visage, 
which  looked  as  though  it  might  once  have  been  supplied 
with  flesh,  but  its  substance  having  melted  away,  the  outer 
covering  now  hung  flabby  and  puckered  under  his  chin  and 
beneath  his  cheek-bones  and  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth ; 
his  hair  was  of  the  grisly  order,  and  stood  far  off  from  his 
wrinkled  forehead,  which  was  broad  and  high  enough  to  in 
dicate  the  presence  of  intellect,  or  at  least  room  for  it ;  the 
color  of  his  eyes  it  would  be  hard  to  determine,  for  they 
were  very  small,  and  the  thick,  heavy  eye-lashes  twinkled  so 
continually,  it  was  almost  impossible  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
them.  A  bottle  of  gin,  a  pitcher  of  water  and  two  tumblers 
stood  on  the  counter,  close  beside  them  ;  and  from  this  we 
may  infer  that  the  two  gentlemen  were  not  dissimilar  in  some 
of  their  tastes. 

"  Now,  Squire,"  (for  we  must  know  that  this  gentleman 
belonged  to  an  honorable  profession,)  "  I  think  we've  done 
this  job  up  pretty  considerable  slick—don't  you?" 

Turning  his  long  face  round  as  Mr.  Cross  spoke,  so  as  to 
bring  it  into  a  horizontal  position,  and  shaking  it  very  sig 
nificantly,  as  each  word  fell  from  his  lips  in  a  slow  and 
measured  tone, — 

"  It  has  worked,  neighbor  Cross,  like  a  charm,  just  as  I 
told  you  it  would.  The  shoe  pinches  now,  I  guess,  and  more 
than  one  foot  too — one,  two,  three,  four — only  think  of  it," — • 
giving  Mr.  Cross  a  poke  with  one  of  his  long  fingers — 
u  only  think  of  it — five  birds  with  one  stone — only  think  of 
it !" — another  poke. 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  199 

"  I  never  thought,  Squire,  what  you  could  be  at,  when 
you  wanted  me  to  lend  Bolton  that  money." 

"  I  knew  though,  neighbor,  what  I  was  about.  Jemmy 
Bolton  wanted  money  bad  ;  he  had  property  enough  laying 
round  for  you  to  slap  on  any  time.  You  and  I,  you  know, 
have  talked  about  setting  Dave  up  alongside  of  the  Montjoys 
that,  you  see,  will  never  work.  Bolton  I  knew,  for  he  tol 
me  of  it,  owed  those  boys  all  of  three  thousand  dollars  ;  they 
had  advanced  it  to  him  on  the  timber,  thinking,  you  see, 
that  all  was  safe,  and  that  it  would  be  coming  along.  Stop 
that,  says  I — trip  up  Jemmy  Bolton — clap  on  the  timber ; 
that  cuts  the  Montjoys  three  thousand  dollars — no  small 
sum  for  young  folks,  considering  the  times  too — then  down 
goes  Bolton ;  that  gives  Bowers  &  Co.  and  Jones  &  Bro 
thers  such  a  pull,  you  see,  down  they  go  too — ha,  ha,  ha !" — 
a  poke  with  the  long  finger — "  both  of  them  owe  the  Mont 
joys  considerable.  That,  with  Bolton's  affair,  you  see,  will 
just  about  finish  the  job  for  them — they  can't  stand  it  no 
how." 

"  Poor  fellows  !  I  am  almost  sorry  for  them."  Mr.  Cross 
was  not  so  sorry  but  he  could  smile  a  little  as  he  said  it. 

"  I  am  not  a  bit — I  am  not  a  bit  sorry,  neighbor  ;  they 
are  upstarts,  nothing  else ;  and  they  have  made  all  the  folks 
about  them  think  that  they  are  the  end  of  the  law.  No,  no ; 
let  them  go  down — the  sooner  the  better ;  and  when  they 
are  once  down  on  their  back,  you  see,  then  up  goes  Dave. 
You  have  got  the  cash,  you  know — a  dash  he  will  make ; 
and  the  whole  country  round  will  be  the  better  for  it." 

"  Yes,  but,  Squire,  you  know  these  fellows  will  fight  hard 
to  live  it  through  ;  they  are  no  fancy  boys  ;  they  have  work 
ed  their  way  along  by  their  own  efforts  ;  they  stand  high  at 
the  bank.  M'Fall  is  a  great  friend  of  theirs ;  they  will  make 
the  bank  help  them — see  if  they  don't." 

"  I  have  thought  of  that  too,  neighbor" — another  hard 
poke — <:  I've  thought  of  that ;  and  there  you  have  them  too." 

"  How  so,  Squire  ?  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  bank, 
you  know." 

"  Don't  you  know  a  certain  man  who  would  not  refuse  you 
a  favor  for  a  trifle?  Bank  Directors  are  not  always  so  in 
dependent  as  they  would  wish  to  be  thought — ha,  ha,  ha !" 

"  Well,  what  of  him  ?" 

"  You  just  whisper  in  his  ear  that  it  would  be  no  partio- 


200      .  JAMES    MONTJOY  :     OR, 


ular  accommodation  to  you,  that  certain  folks  should  receive 
any  favors  ;  that  will  be  enough.  One  man,  you  know,  in  a 
board  is  as  good  as  a  dozen" — another  poke. 

"  Well,  well,  I  understand." 

"  I  thought  you  did  ; — but  what  was  that  ?  There  is  no 
body  sleeps  here,  I  hope  ?" 

"  Oh  no ;  it  is  the  dog ;  he  is  dreaming,  I  suppose." 

"  It  startled  me  though,  neighbor,  for  it  would  not  be 
quite  so  clever  to  have  any  one  get  the  run  of  what  we  have 
been  saying." 

"  Never  fear,  Squire  ;  I  shut  all  up  myself." 

"  I  hope  you  are  sure  of  that ;  for  I  was  just  going  to  tell 
you  the  best  of  the  whole  joke." 

"  Tell  away.  Squire  ;  there  are  no  listeners  but  the  old 
casks  ;.  they  won't  tell  any  tales." 

"  They  do  sometimes  though,  neighbor." 

"  How  so  ?" 

"  They  tell  a  little  bit,  sometimes  by  the  end  of  our  nose, 
ha,  ha,  ha  !" — another  poke — "  don't  they  ?  ha,  ha,  ha  !  Well, 
as  I  was  saying,  the  best  of  it  is  all  to  come.  Rutherford  is 
clean  done  up" — one,  two,  three  pokes  right  off 

"  Rutherford  done  up  !  What  do  you  mean  now,  Squire  ?" 

"  Why  you  know  I  told  you  that  we  had  killed  five  birds 
with  one  stone,  and  so  we  have.  Bolton  is  dead,  the  other 
two  fellows  are  kicking,  and  the  Montjoys  will  be  dead  soon  ; 
and  our  old  friend  Rutherford,  whom  we  have  been  picking 
at  these  six  years,  is  down  at  last,  all  gone  to  smash.  Think 
of  that,  neighbor  Cross." 

Mr.  Cross  made  no  reply ;  but,  turning  to  the  decanter, 
filled  his  own  glass  and  the  Squire's  about  half  full  of  the 
clear  stuff,  added  a  little  water  to  his  own,  and  then  swal 
lowed  the  potion  at  one  draught.  The  Squire  did  not 
trouble  the  water,  preferring  the  good  creature  in  its  pure 
state. 

"  Your  gin  is  uncommonly  strong,  neighbor — 'ugh,  'ugh, 
'ugh — it  almost  shakes  a-body — 'ugh,  'ugh,  'ugh." 

"  Water  it  then,  why  don't  you  ?  But  what  is  it  about 
Rutherford,  and  how  has  that  come  ?" 

"  Why,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do,  that  Rutherford  is  an 
easy  body  ;  you  know  that  the  quarry  folks  have  been  getting 
round  him,  and  drawing  him  in  more  and  more  every  year. 
H^,  good  soul !  thought  all  was  right,  while  they  have  been 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  201 

going  on,  as  you  know  very  well,  running  into  debt  deeper 
and  deeper.  Well,  it  is  only  a  little  pull  that  is  needed  to 
bring  down  a  great  weight  when  it  is  tottering  and  ready  to 
fall.  This  business  of  Bolton's  has  upset  the  whole  concern  ; 
they  only  lost  a  trifle  by  him,  but  it  touched  them  just  at  a 
delicate  time.  People  got  frightened,  and  the  game  was  up, 
and  Rutherford  is  in  for  all  their  debts ;  it  is  thought  it  will 
sweep  every  thing  away,  homestead  and  all. 

"  Now  this  I  know  is  of  no  consequence  to  you ;  it  will 
not  give  you  any  title  to  these  barrens ;  but  now  that  they 
are  in  a  muss,  will  be  the  time  to  accomplish  our  great  plan. 
That  deed  is  not  on  record  yet" — a  very  hard  poke — "  you 
know  that  your  deed  from  old  Ross  covers  the  whole 
ground,  when  once  this  claim  of  Rutherford's  is  put  one  side. 
Old  Rutherford,  I  suppose,  thought  that  the  whole  tract  here 
was  not  worth  the  trouble  of  looking  after,  and  the  young 
one,  no  doubt,  thinks  that  all  is  right ;  but  mind  me,  neigh 
bor,  now  is  your  time,  or  never.  This  land,  between  you 
and  me,  which  Rutherford  owns  here,  is  worth  all  the  rest 
of  his  property  put  together.  These  Montjoys  have,  you  see, 
opened  a  trade  for  the  timber,  and  there  is  no  telling  what 
its  value  will  yet  be.  The  creditors  will  be  searching  the 
records ;  it  will  soon  be  found  out  that  this  deed  is  not  reg 
istered,  and  then  your  play  is  out.  What  you  do  must  be 
done  at  once." 

"  True  enough,  Squire,  his  deed  once  out  of  the  way, 
mine  is  worth  a  trifle  no  doubt :  but  the  question  is,  has  he 
a  deed  at  all  ?  and  if  he  has,  how  can  we  get  hold  of  it  ?" 

"  Ah,  neighbor,  he  has  got  the  deed ;  I  have  seen  it  with 
my  own  eyes  :  you  see  I  have  not  been  idle  about  this  mat 
ter  of  yours,  although  it  is  a  thing  that  it  will  not  do  to  say 
much  about.  Some  time  since,  I  thought  I  would  just  call 
and  inquire  about  some  old  matters,  merely  to  see  what 
might  turn  up.  He  was  very  polite,  you  know,  handing  me  ' 
a  chair  and  all  that.  '  You  want  to  look  at  the  old  survey, 
do  you,  Squire?'  'Yes,'  said  I,  'if  it  is  not  too  much 
trouble,  Mr.  Rutherford.'  '  Oh  no,  by  no  means.'  And 
so  he  out  with  the  old  tin  trunk  ; — you  have  seen  that  trunk 
in  old  Rutherford's  time  ?'  " 

"  Oh  yes,  often." 

"  WeU,  he   out  with   the  old  trunk  ; — he  keeps  it  just 
9* 


202  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

whore  the  old  man  did,  under  the  secretary ;  you  know  as 
well  as  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I've  seen  it ;  but  go  on  with  your  story." 

"  Well,  he  out  with  the  trunk,  as  I  was  saying,  and 
among  the  very  first  papers  he  threw  on  the  table,  was  this 
very  deed.  Thinks  I,  old  fellow,  if  I  had  you  once  in  my 
grip,  I  guess  I  know  whose  fortune  would  be  made." 

"  Well,  the  thing  is  now,  how  to  get  hold  of  it." 

"  That's  the  thing,  neighbor;"  one  or  two  good  pokes. 

"  I  have  a  few  good  fellows  that  are  up  to  any  thing,  only 
let  me  tell  them  what  to  do." 

"  Then  it  can  be  done,  neighbor.  What  a  nice  thing  it 
would  be  to  have  a  little  bit  of  a  fire  happen,  say  about  mid 
night.  A  pretty  state  of  confusion  that  would  make,  you 
know ; — doors  open,  every  body  running  helter-skelter,  all 
frightened  to  death  !  Wouldn't  that  do,  ha?" — a  hard  poke — 
"  but  there  is  no  time  to  lose." 

Cross  evidently  relished  the  idea  suggested,  for  he  re 
plenished  the  glasses  again,  omitting  the  water  this  time ; 
then,  talking  in  a  much  lower  tone,  named  the  persons — • 
smart  fellows,  as  he  called  them — arranged  time,  place  of  ren 
dezvous,  &c. ;  to  all  which  the  Squire  assented,  every  once 
in  a  while  putting  out  his  long  finger  and  striking  neighbor 
Cross  in  the  ecstasy  of  his  admiration.  And  thus  they  de 
vised  this  deed  of  darkness,  careless  of  all  the  terrible  con 
sequences  which  might  result,  so  that  their  own  crafty 
designs  were  accomplished. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

SAM  OAKUM  was  indeed  very  much  excited  at  the  close  of 
his  interview  with  Commodore  Trysail ;  the  bright  prospect 
before  him,  of  soon  realizing  what  his  heart  had  been  so^ong 
aspiring  after,  gave  a  sudden  spring  to  all  his  feelings,  and 
the  spirit  of  his  station  seemed  already  to  have  taken  pos 
session  of  his  mind. 

The  trifle  of  news,  too,  which  Peter  had  communicated, 
might  also  have  had  something  to  do  with  the  buoyancy  of 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  203 

his  feelings.  Sam  had  never  been  able,  notwithstanding  his 
cares  of  business,  to  drive  away  some  curious  thoughts 
which  floated  across  his  brain,  or  perhaps  more  properly  his 
heart,  in  reference  to  a  certain  little  fairy-like  creature,  with 
golden  locks  and  dark-blue  eyes,  that  once  in  his  early  days 
he  occasionally  met.  What  shape  these  thoughts  assumed,  it 
would  be  very  difficult  to  say ;  for  Sam  was  full  of  his  fan 
cies,  and  he  kept  them  all  to  himself. 

This  little  fairy,  however,  is  a  fairy  no  longer,  for  she  has 
grown  up  to  be  a  fine,  plump,  good-natured,  wholesome-look 
ing  young  lady ;  her  golden  locks  have  turned  to  a  rich  au 
burn  ;  her  dark,  staring,  blue  eyes  are  now  none  too  large,  and 
they  illuminate,  with  their  bright  and  pleasant  sparkles,  her 
full  oval  face,  on  which  the  rose  and  the  lily  have  beautifully 
blended. 

Sam  has  not  seen  her,  however,  for  four  long  years,  and 
he  thinks  of  her  as  she  looked  then.  And  if  the  Commo 
dore  had  known  how  much  more  Sam  was  thinking  about 
Peter's  news,  than  about  the  schooner  or  the  ship,  it  mig^ht 
have  injured  his  confidence,  a  very  little. 

As  to  what  this  little  fairy  ever  thought  of  Sam,  it  would 
be  equally  hard  to  divine.  All  we  know  is,  that  when  a  little 
girl  she  used  to  be  very  glad  to  see  a  little  black-eyed  boy 
in  blue  jacket  and  trousers,  and  would  frequently  smile 
when  she  saw  him,  and  perhaps  on  one  or  two  occasions  pass 
ed  a  word  with  him — nothing  more. 

She  is  now,  I  have  said,  a  young  lady ;  has  been  much  in 
society,  has  had  many  admirers,  and  whether  she  ever  thinks 
of  the  little  black-eyed  boy  is  yet  to  be  known. 

Sam  had  thought  all  day  of  the  visit  which  he  felt  he  ought 
to  make  to  his  friends,  the  Morris's.  He  called  there  in 
the  edge  of  evening,  and  no  doubt  spent  a  very  pleasant 
hour,  for  his  friends  were  rejoiced  to  see  him,  and  gave  him 
to  understand  that  the  Commodore  had  let-  them  into  the 
secret ;  and  from  the  consideration  with  which  he  was  treat 
ed,  it  was  very  evident  that  he  had  not  fallen  in  their  esti 
mation. 

I  said,  that  he  no  doubt  spent  a  pleasant  hour ;  but  that 
idea  intruded  itself  rather  because  there  was  every  thing 
conspiring  to  make  it  pleasant,  than  from  its  apparent  efiect 
upon  our  hero  ;  for  his  countenance,  as  he  walked  on  his  way 
towards  home,  was  sad,  and  it  was  some  time  before  the 


204  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

lively,  happy  circle  there  could  so  impart  their  cheerfulness 
as  to  enable  him  to  join  heartily  with  them 

Major  Morris  and  his  lovely  daughter  had  reached  home, 
as  Peter  had  said,  accompanied  by  a  young  lady,  who  had 
been  a  companion  of  Susan  at  school,  and  her  brother,  a 
fashionable  young  man,  the  parents  of  whom  were  wealthy 
and  truly  respectable  in  their  standing.  And  it  may  as  well 
be  told  at  once,  that  although  not  engaged  to  this  youth — for 
Susan's  parents  were  too  careful  of  her  happiness  to  allow 
such  a  step  at  the  age  she  then  was — still  there  was  decided 
feeling  on  the  part  of  the  young  man,  and  Susan  had  been 
perhaps  as  well  pleased  with  him  as  with  any  of  those  who 
constantly  sought  her  company.  He  was  not,  however,  visit 
ing  as  a  suitor,  but  to  wait  on  his  sister,  and  spend  a  few 
weeks  at  the  Major's  delightful  residence. 

The  human  heart  is  a  curious  concern,  and  especially  the 
heart  of  a  young  lady  of  seventeen.  It  ought,  at  that  age, 
always  to  be  fixed  upon  its  books  or  its  work  ;  but  I  am  very 
fearful  that  it  takes  a  large  sweep  sometimes  in  its  wander 
ings,  and  allows  impressions  to  be  made  upon  its  tender  feel 
ings  that  are  not  easily  got  rid  of. 

Susan  Morris  was  by  no  means  an  imaginative  girl.  She 
had,  it  is  true,  very  ardent  feelings,  but  they  had  always  been 
expended  upon  real  objects,  and  in  consequence  she  was  the 
beloved  of  every  circle  where  she  moved. 

To  say  that  she  was  handsome,  does  not  express  what  all 
felt  who  beheld  her  and  enjoyed  her  society.  There  was 
such  a  richness  to  her  beauty ;  honesty,  purity,  ardor,  deep 
feeling  and  fixedness  of  purpose,  like  a  galaxy  of  brilliant 
rays,  flowed  forth  and  around  her,  so  visibly,  that  the  eye 
was  never  satisfied  with  beholding  and  bearing  to  the  heart 
the  peculiar  loveliness  of  her  expressive  features.  She  was 
a  common-sense,  every-day  girl,  and  looked  upon  life  and  all 
its  duties  as  things  demanding  her  attention. 

But  something  is  the  matter  now,  for  while  her  compan 
ion  is  enjoying  the  sweet  sleep  of  youth,  Susan  is  sitting  by 
the  window,  and  her  eye  is  fixed  upon  the  water,  and  follows 
the  bright  streak  of  moonlight  far  off,  until  she  can  almost 
discern  the  restless  billows  of  the  ocean,  or  at  least  she 
thinks  she  can.  What  charm  is  there  in  that  undulating 
restless  water?  what  spell,  that  holds  her  thoughts  chained 
to  its  waving  bosom?  Poor  thing  !  she  knows  it  not  her- 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  205 

self;  she  could  not  tell  the  mother  to  whom  she  would  most 
willingly  open  all  her  heart.  But  there  she  sits,  and  looks, 
and  almost  weeps.  That  water  has  a  power  over  her  she 
never  experienced  till  now,  and  knows  not  why  it  is ;  nor 
dreams  that  one  who  mingled  with  her  childish  fancies,  whom 
she  has  not  seen  for  years,  till  these  few  hours  past,  when 
like  a  vision  he  broke  upon  her  youthful  gaze  in  all  his  man 
ly  beauty,  improved  in  every  grace  that  wins  the  female 
heart,  has  aught  to  do  with  the  heaving  of  her  troubled 
thoughts. 

Two  weeks  from  the  day  on  which  Commodore  Trysail 
gave  the  appointment,  Sam  and  his  beautiful  schooner  were 
ready  for  a  tussle  with  the  ocean. 

Partings  with  near  friends  are  not  pleasant  scenes,  so  I 
shall  pass  them  over.  It  was  a  lovely  afternoon,  one  of  sum 
mer's  brightest  days  ;  a  lively  breeze  played  over  the  water, 
and  scarcely  bending  to  its  power,  a  small  trim  vessel,  rigged 
in  pilot-boat  fashion,  was  gliding  gracefully  along,  not  far 
from  the  shore.  Every  sail  was  set,  and  filled  just  enough 
to  display  their  graceful  cut,  the  little  black  hull  beneath 
making  them  look  more  white  and  showy  by  the  contrast. 
A  row-boat,  well  manned,  was  by  the  shore,  around  which 
were  gathered  groups  of  lookers-on,  or  friends  saying  some 
last  words  to  the  youths  who  held  the  oars,  and  whose  half 
serious  smiles  told  plainly  that  their  hearts  were  not  so  light 
as  they  would  seem. 

Just  beyond  the  shore,  upon  the  sloping  green,  a  little 
party  stands,  eyeing  with  apparent  interest  the  motions  of 
the  schooner  and  the  preparations  for  departure,  which  are 
plainly  visible  in  the  gathering  crowd  that  was  surrounding 
the  little  boat  at  the  water's  edge. 

"  Oh,  Susan,  what  a  fine  sight  that  vessel  makes ;  but, 
dear  me !  who  would  think  of  venturing  to  sea  in  such  a 
craft  ?" 

"Why  not,  Julia?" 

"  Oh,  she  is  so  small,  I  should  think  the  waves  would  in 
gulf  her — but  here  comes  her  captain,  I  suppose.  Your 
father  keeps  close  to  him,  and  the  old  Commodore,  how 
proud  he  seems." 

"  Yes,  he  does,  I  assure  you."  said  Mrs.  Morris ;  "  he  is 
proud  of  his  vessel  and  her  captain  too." 

The  three  gentlemen  now  approached  the  ladies,  raising 


206  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

their  hats  in  compliment,  and  again  replacing  them,  with  the 
exception  of  the  younger  one,  who,  having  removed  his  light 
chapeau,  kept  it  in  his  hand. 

There  was  a  seriousness  in  his  air  as  he  immediately  step 
ped  up  to  Mrs.  Morris,  and  received  her  offered  hand. 

"  May  God  bless  you,  my  dear  fellow  !  Come,  a  mother's 
kiss." 

Sam's  heart  was  brave,  but  it  was  very  tender.  He  took 
the  liberty  allowed  him,  but  uttered  not  a  word,  while  Mrs. 
Morris  took  no  pains  to  restrain  the  flowing  tears.  A  po 
lite  bow  to  Miss  Walton,  and  then  the  hand  of  Susan  is 
within  his  own.  He  bowed  respectfully,  raised  her  hand  and 
touched  it  to  his  lips.  He  saw  a  tear  start  as  he  cast  one 
parting  glance  upon  her  sweet  face,  and,  without  a  word  on 
either  side,  they  separated. 

The  Commodore  and  Major  Morris,  each  taking  an  arm, 
walked  with  him  to  the  little  boat. 

"  God  bless  you !"  and  the  Major  clasped  his  hand  in 
both  of  his. 

"  Grod  bless  you,  Captain  Oakum — a  fine  voyage  to  you  ;" 
and  the  Commodore  gave  him  a  sailor's  squeeze. 

A  great  many  hands  were  stretched  out,  and  Sam  was 
busy  enough  for  a  little  while.  He  was  a  great  favorite,  and 
all  were  sad  at  parting  with  him.  Just  as  he  was  about  to 
step  into  the  boat,  two  men  were  seen  hastening  along  shore. 

"  There  are  the  two  men,  captain,  that  have  shipped  to 
day." 

"  Have  you  your  papers  with  you  ?"  said  Captain  Oakum, 
addressing  the  men  who  had  just  reached  them. 

"  Yes,  sir — here  they  are  ;"  handing  them  at  the  same 
time  to  the  captain 

'•  Aboard  with  you,  then." 

They  sprang  in  and  tumbled  themselves  away  as  they 
best  could.  Sam  raised  his  hand ;  every  oar  was  dropped, 
and  the  little  boat  shot  away  like  an  arrow  from  the  strand, 
As  she  left  the  shore,  he  turned  towards  the  land,  and  re 
moving  his  chapeau,  waved  it  towards  those  who  stood  on 
shore,  and  then  raising  his  eye  to  the  different  groups  which 
he  saw  on  the  elevated  bank,  bowed,  and  at  once  there 
was  a  great  waving  of  handkerchiefs,  and  some  among  them 
had  other  work  to  do  with  theirs,  for  tears  were  flowing  free 
ly.  A  fond  mother  and  sisters  were  there,  and  there  were 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  207 


friends  of  his  early  days,  hearts  knit  to  him  in  tenderest 
friendship.  Gracefully  the  little  schooner  rounds  to,  and  for 
a  few  moments  lies  flapping  in  the  wind.  Her  captain 
springs  upon  her  deck,  again  she  falls  off  to  take  the  breeze, 
the  sails  swell  gently  out,  and  on  she  goes  ploughing  her  way 
towards  the  mighty  ocean. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

SAM  is  now  off,  and  for  a  season  we  must  bid  him  adieu. 
Jim  and  Ned  felt  sorely  the  loss  of  one  with  whom  they  had 
been  so  long  and  happily  connected  ;  but  matters  of  the  last 
importance  soon  demanded  their  attention,  and  for  the  time 
banished  thoughts  of  friends,  and  almost  all  other  earthly 
considerations.  Their  business  had  hitherto  been  prosperous, 
and  they  had  yet  to  learn,  by  their  own  experience,  some  of 
those  trials  which  business  men  are  ever  liable  to  suffer.  The 
advantage  which  they  possessed,  of  receiving  supplies  immedi 
ately  from  one  of  the  largest  marts  in  our  country,  not  only  in 
sured  to  them  the  trade  of  individual  families,  but  also  that  of 
many  stores,  removed  far  back  into  the  country :  with  these 
they  were  obliged  to  deal  on  liberal  terms,  allowing  them  a 
credit  of  sufficient  length  to  meet  the  slow  returns  of  a  country 
trade.  They  had  as  yet  carried  on  a  successful  traffic,  set 
tling  every  six  months  by  an  exchange  of  produce,  or  a  note 
at  short  time. 

One  article  of  country  produce  had  become  a  valuable 
item  in  their  trade — the  pine  timber  from  the  barrens — and 
so  urgent  was  the  demand  for  it,  in  consequence  of  its  ex 
cellent  quality,  and  the  facility  with  which  it  could  be  floated 
to  market,  that  they  found  it  necessary  to  make  large  pur 
chases  beyond  what  they  would  receive  as  an  exchange  of 
goods  ;  these  purchases  had  frequently  to  be  made  by  an  ad 
vance  of  one-half  or  three-fourths  of  the  value,  and  the 
balance  paid  oh  delivery. 

As  their  orders  of  late  had  been  much  increased,  they 
had  exerted  themselves  to  procure  funds,  and  by  this  method 


208  JAMES    MONTJOY  ;     OR, 


had,  as  they  supposed,  secured  a  very  large  and  valuable  lot 
of  timber. 

One  morning — the  very  day  after  the  departure  of  Sam 
— they  were  favored  with  a  visit  from  Mr.  Cross.  James, 
the  elder  partner,  received  him  politely,  but  with  some  re 
serve,  for,  to  tell  the  truth,  they  had  no  favorable  opinion  of 
his  character.  He  had  a  fine  lot  of  timber  for  sale,  and 
would  be  glad  to  contract  with  them  for  it. 

"  We  have  already  engaged  as  much  as  we  need  at  pre 
sent,  sir,  and  are  expecting  it  every  day ;  in  fact,  Mr.  Bolton 
promised  to  deliver  it  last  week,  but  I  presume  he  has  met 
with  some  unexpected  hinderance." 

"  If  it  is  from  Mr.  Bolton  you  are  expecting  the  timber, 
I  think  you  may  give  up  looking  for  it,  as  I  have  been 
obliged  to  take  all  he  has  on  hand,  to  secure  myself  for  a 
debt  he  owed  me.  I  suppose  you  know  that  he  has  gone  to 
pieces  ?" 

As  Mr.  Cross  said  this,  he  cast  a  very  inquisitive  glance 
at  young  Montjoy — 

"  I  hope  you  have  not  advanced  much  to  neighbor  Bolton 
on  account  of  the  timber  ;  these  are  tight  times,  you  know." 

Just  then  Ned  entered  the  store,  and  handed  his  brother 
a  letter,  which  he  had  opened  and  read.  Jim  saw  too  clearly 
that  there  was  a  good  reason  for  the  very  serious  air  which 
his  brother's  countenance  assumed,  when  he  handed  it  to 
him. 

"  I  believe,  Mr.  Cross,  that  we  will  do  nothing  about  the 
timber  this  morning." 

"  Good  morning,  gentlemen." 

No  sooner  had  their  visitor  left,  than  they  retired  to  a  lit 
tle  back  room  at  the  end  of  their  store,  where  they  had  held 
many  a  pleasant  conversation  in  company  with  their  friend 
Sara.  Heretofore,  when  they  had  repaired  to  this  room,  it 
had  been  with  light  hearts,  and  many  a  joyous  hour  had  they 
passed  there  ;  far  different  feelings  now  pressed  their  spirits. 
Their  trials  until  now  had  been  of  the  light  and  transient 
kind,  which  a  little  youthful  energy,  a  little  determination  of 
purpose,  or  putting  forth  of  physical  power,  could  overcome 
and  scatter.  Now  they  have  got  a  lesson  to  learn  on  a  new 
page  of  life — that  the  "  race  is  not  always  to  the  swift,  nor  the 
battle  to  the  strong." 

When  they  reached  the  room,  Jim  again  read  over  the 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  209 

letter,  which   proved   to   be   another   messenger  with   bad 
tidings. 

It  ran  as  follows  : 

"  GENTLEMEN,  —  I  am  sorry  to  be  compelled  to  inform  you 
that  the  two  notes  of  Bowers  &  Co.  and  Jones  &  Brothers, 
which  fell  due  yesterday  at  the  bank,  were  protested  for  non 
payment  ;  the  note  which  I  hold  of  yours  for  fifteen  hundred 
dollars,  and  to  meet  which  the  above  notes  were  left  with  me, 
will  be  due  in  ten  days,  and  you  will  be  obliged  to  remit  the 
amount,  or  otherwise  arrange  for  it,  as  the  distressing  pres 
sure  at  present  on  the  money-market  will  render  it  utterly 
impossible  for  me  to  honor  your  note  from  my  own  resources. 
I  send  this  by  private  hands  in  advance  of  the  mail,  as  I  wish 
you  to  have  the  earliest  notice  possible  of  this  event. 

"  Yours  respectfully, 
"JAMES 


To  make  this  letter  more  intelligible,  it  may  be  proper  to 
state  that  Mr.  McFall  was  a  personal  friend  of  the  Montjoys, 
who  attended  to  their  banking  arrangements  —  the  institution 
being  at  such  a  distance  (full  twenty  miles)  as  rendered  such 
aid  necessary.  He  received  their  notes  payable  at  bank, 
due  from  merchants,  collected  and  made  payments  as  they 
directed,  and  having  facilities,  whenever  they  needed  funds 
for  extra  service,  procured  for  them  what  they  wanted,  either 
upon  their  own  note,  for  which  he  held  the  business  paper  as 
security,  or  upon  the  paper  itself.  In  the  case  of  the  fifteen 
hundred  dollar  note  mentioned  in  the  letter,  he  had  procured 
the  money  from  the  bank  on  it  alone,  and  held  their  business 
paper  in  two  notes  for  about  the  same  amount  ;  these  fail 
ing  to  be  met,  he  was  obliged  to  look  to  them  for  payment. 

To  describe  the  feelings  of  the  two  young  men,  as  the 
alarming  news  broke  upon  them,  and  the  calamitous  conse 
quences  which  it  threatened,  would  be  a  vain  attempt.  Had 
an  earthquake  burst  at  mid-day,  and  with  its  convulsive 
quiver  rocked  their  building,  until  they  could  see  the  totter 
ing  fabric  parting  at  its  joints  and  falling  upon  their  devoted 
heads,  it  could  not  have  waked  up  more  intense,  more  appal 
ling  sensations.  They  had  begun  by  the  sweat  of  their  brow, 
they  had  exerted  every  energy,  they  had  advanced  step  by 
step  ;  their  business  had  grown  by  a  natural  progress  ;  they 


210  JAMES  MONTJOY;   on, 


had  not  forced  it  by  speculation,  nor  by  an  undue  haste  to 
acquire  wealth  ;  they  had  abstained  from  borrowing  on  the 
names  of  others,  and  from  lending  their  own  ;  they  had 
trusted  to  none  but  those  who  stood  well  in  trade ;  their 
yearly  gains  were  such  as  they  had  every  reason  to  be  con 
tented  with ;  and,  but  yesterday,  they  felt  firm  in  their  own 
strength,  and  buoyant  with  the  fair  prospect  before  them. 
Now  their  foundation  is  gone,  and  the  labor  of  years  that  are 
past,  and  hope  for  years  to  come,  alike  vanished,  as  a  vision, 
from  before  them. 

Ned  had  so  long  been  accustomed  to  lean  upon  his  bro 
ther  in  every  emergency,  to  have  him  think  out  a  way  for 
them,  that  hitherto  he  had  never  troubled  himself  with  any 
further  care  than  faithfully  attending  to  the  execution  of  his 
plans.  Now  he  saw  that  the  staff  upon  which  he  had  leaned 
was  broken  :  the  pale  features,  the  knit  brow,  the  clammy 
sweat  that  stood  upon  his  temples ;  the  vacant  gaze  with 
which  he  looked  upon  the  letter  that  lay  folded  in  his  hands, 
told  him  that  James  was  sore  dismayed,  and  at  'his  wit's 
end. 

"  Let  us  go,  Jim,  and  tell  mother  all  about  it." 

But  Jim  answered  him  not ;  he  merely  sighed  and  wiped 
his  forehead,  and  then  leaning  forward,  covered  his  face,  as  if 
he  wished  to  hide  even  from  his  brother  the  agony  that  was 
wringing  his  bosom. 

Oh  !  ye  who  despise  the  plodding  toil  of  your  daily  labor, 
who  think  it  drudgery  to  follow  the  plough,  and  handle  the 
hoe,  and  reap  the  fields,  and  gather  in  your  scanty  gains,  and 
are  ashamed  of  the  homely  fare  and  the  rude  dress  that  these 
afford  you,  could  you  but  have  known  the  bitterness  of  that 
trial  which  was  sending  its  pangs  into  the  heart  of  that  young 
man.  you  would  prize  more  highly  the  freedom  you  have 
from  distressing  care,  the  independence  you  enjoy  of  either 
the  frown  or  the  favor  of  man,  the  quiet  that  is  spread  over 
all  your  humble  enjoyments,  and  the  peace  of  mind  which 
goes  with  you  to  your  rest  and  meets  your  waking  thoughts. 
Depend  upon  it,  that  the  glitter  of  wealth  is  purchased  at  a 
higher  price  than  your  imagination  fancies. 

Ned  did  not  venture  again  to  disturb  his  brother's  medi 
tations,  and  began  even  to  hope  that  he  was  devising  some 
plan  for  their  rescue ;  but  for  once  his  clear  and  business 
intellect  was  at  fault.  The  blow  was  so  sudden,  that  his 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  2 1  1 

young  mind  could  only  suffer,  without  being  able  to  wake  up 
its  energies  to  meet  and  ward  off  its  consequences.  Con 
scious  at  last  that  something  must  be  done,  and  not  suffi 
ciently  composed  to  know  what  that  must  be,  he  quietly  arose, 
folded  the  letter,  and  placing  it  in  his  pocket — • 

"  You  are  right,  Ned ;  let  us  go  and  tell  mother.  She 
ought  uo  know  how  things  stand,  without  delay." 

It  was  no  strange  thing  for  these  young  men  to  make  a 
confidant  of  their  mother.  She  had  accustomed  them  to  tell 
her  all  their  thoughts,  and  thus  had  they  grown  up  beneath 
her  fostering  care  :  and  opening,  as  they  did  to  her,  the  foun 
tain  of  their  soul,  she  watched  each  bubble  that  came  spark 
ling  up.  cleared  all  the  dross  and  specks  away,  with  sweet 
maternal  care  ;  and  still  she  loved  to  watch — it  was  her  life's 
one  duty ;  for  well  she  knew,  if  all  was  bright  and  pure 
within  the  living  spring,  the  streams  must,  in  the  end,  be 
bright  and  sparkling  too. 

Alarmed  at  once  by  the  appearance  of  her  sons,  as  they 
entered  the  little  room,  where  she  sat  with  their  sweet  sister, 
plying  their  busy  needles,  she  laid  aside  her  task,  and  turn 
ing  her  anxious  eye  on  James — 

"  What  is  it.  my  children  ?  James,  I  know  you  are  in 
some  great  trouble." 

"  We  are  in  trouble,  mother,  and  we  have  thought  it  our 
duty  to  let  you  know  all  about  it  at  once."  And  they  each  took 
a  seat  beside  her,  while  Ellen,  the  idol  of  their  hearts,  un 
used  to  any  thing  but  smiles  from  her  dear  brothers,  took 
Ned's  hand  in  hers,  and  pressed  it  in  all  the  warmth  of  her 
love,  and  wept  as  she  looked  at  the  calm  yet  serious  counte 
nance  of  her  light-hearted  brother. 

In  a  very  straight-forward  way,  James  told  his  mother 
the  news  which  had  just  been  brought  to  them,  and  ended 
his  communication  by  saying  : 

"  Thus  you  see,  mother,  at  one  blow,  is  swept  away  all 
that  we  have  earned  by  our  labors  for  these  six  years  past ; 
but  that  is  not  the  worst  of  it." 

"  You  are  afraid,  my  son,  that  it  will  take  more  than  you 
have  earned  ;  it  will  leave  you  in  debt  ?" 

':  Yes,  mother,  it  will  leave  us,  I  fear,  one  thousand  dol 
lars  worse  than  nothing,  and  that  is  not  all." 

':  That  is  bad  enough,  James,  but  I  hope  you  cannot  ac 
cuse  yourselves  of  any  wrong  proceedings — any" — 


212  JAMES    MONT.TOY  :     OR, 


"  Nothing  wrong,  mother,  that  we  can  see,  but  we  shall 
lose — we  shall  lose  our  credit,  and  that,  mother,  is  worse 
than  death" — and  Jim  could  stand  no  more ;  manly  as  he 
was  he  covered  his  face  and  gave  way  to  a  passionate  burst 
of  grief. 

Mrs.  Montjoy  spoke  not  until  the  violence  of  it  was 
past,  and  then,  in  a  very  calm  and  soothing  way,  gave  such 
counsel  as  her  judgment  best  dictated. 

There  is  something  in  the  tones  of  a  mother's  voice  that 
goes  at  once  to  the  heart  of  man.  James  felt  the  influence 
of  her  sweet  words,  lulling  the  violence  of  the  storm  within. 
Calmer  views  began  to  break  upon  him — a  juster  sense  of 
the  responsibility  of  his  present  situation.  This  was  his 
hour  of  adversity,  and  he  must  act  the  man. 

Ned,  too,  began  to  feel  his  heart  grow  lighter. 

"  Come,  Jim,  let  us  keep  up  a  good  heart ;  things  may 
come  round  right  at  last,  and  if  the  worst  happens  we  can 
go  to  work  again  in  the  old  garden." 

"Ah,  my  son,  you  will  often  think  of  your  boyhood's 
days  in  that  garden  ;  you  worked  hard,  but  you  were  light- 
hearted  and  happy,  although  you  sometimes  complained  of 
back-aches  and  blistered  hands." 

"  Mother,  I  tell  you  what,"  said  Ned,  "  heart-aches  are 
worse  than  back-aches  ;  the  one  you  can  sleep  off",  the  other 
I  don't  believe  we  can  get  rid  of  in  that  way." 

"  Yes,  brother,  now  that  we  look  back  upon  them,  those 
were  the  happiest  days,  I  think,  that  you  and  I  will  ever  see, 
but  we  did  not  think  so  then.  Now  we  cannot  go  back,  we 
must  therefore,  as  mother  says,  meet  this  trouble  like  men, 
and  urge  our  way  along  the  best  we  may.  Mother,  I  thank 
you  for  your  dear  good  words  ;  they  have  revived  my  spirit" — 
and  he  stooped  and  kissed  her.  "  And  now,  Ned,  we  have 
a  great  deal  to  do ;  let  us  be  about  it." 

As  soon  as  the  brothers  were  alone,  Jim  showed  that  he 
was  himself  again,  and  in  a  very  calm  and  business-like 
manner  prepared  for  action. 

"  The  first  thing  we  must  do,  Ned,  will  be,  to  see  exactly 
how  we  stand.  While  you  are  attending  to  customers,  I 
will  make  an  abstract  of  our  books.  Then  this  evening,  when 
the  store  is  closed,  we  will  take  an  account  of  our  stock  ;  we 
shall  then  know  better  our  situation  and  what  course  to  pur- 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  213 

sue.     We  must  put  on   a  cheerful   countenance,  and   keep 
straight  along  as  usual,  for  to-day  at  any  rate." 

"  I  don't  know  about  the  cheerful  face,  Jim,  but  I  will 
do  the  best  I  can." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

SCARCELY  had  Cross  and  his  companion  in  guilt  retired 
from  their  dark  conclave  to  carry  out  their  dreadful  purpose, 
when  a  young  man  arose  stealthily  from  off  a  rude  mattress 
upon  which  he  had  been  lying,  listened  a  moment,  then  hasti 
ly  threw  on  a  coat  which  had  served  him  for  a  pillow,  and 
with  light  steps  proceeded  towards  the  door ;  his  further 
progress  was  now  arrested,  for  the  key  had  been  removed, 
and  the  lock  was  bolted.  Somewhat  alarmed  at  this  hinder- 
ance,  he  cast  his  eye  anxiously  along  the  front  windows  and 
proceeded  to  undo  the  fastenings  on  the  inside,  when  a 
thought  occurred  to  him,  that  if  he  escaped  through  that 
opening,  it  would  be  noticed  on  the  return  of  the  owner  of 
the  store,  which,  from  what  he  had  overheard,  would  be  in 
a  few  moments.  He  therefore  replaced  the  bolt  and  hastily 
retreated  to  a  building  connected  with  the  store  and  running 
back  from  it.  Here,  too,  by  some  unaccountable  purpose,  he 
was  again  frustrated  :  the  door  was  fastened  and  the  key 
withdrawn  ;  and,  to  his  consternation,  he  heard  footsteps  and 
voices.  Cross,  and  the  gang  of  wretches  he  had  awaked 
from  their  lair,  which  was  in  one  of  the  out-houses  connected 
with  his  establishment,  were  about  to  enter  the  store — he,  to 
give  his  instructions  to  them,  to  inspire  them  with  the  hellish 
draught,  and  they,  to  go  hence  on  their  errand  of  mischief. 
To  remain  where  he  was,  and  be  discovered,  his  life  would 
not  be  worth  a  mention  ;  that  he  well  knew.  Above  his  head 
was  a  trap-door,  opening  into  the  loft  which  ran  over  the 
store.  The  covering  was  removed,  he  sprang  upon  a  barrel, 
the  nearest  article  to  where  he  stood ;  making  a  desperate 
effort,  his  hands  grasped  the  sides  of  the  hole— he  heard  the  key 
rattling  in  the  lock,  exerted  himself  with  an  energy  the  fear 
of  death  alone  could  have  inspired,  and  drew  at  arms-length 


214  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 


the  whole  weight  of  his  body  through  the  aperture.  The 
door  opened,  and  Cross  entered  with  three  of  the  creatures 
around  whom  he  had  wound  the  coils  of  iniquity,  until 
they  had  become  the  slaves  of  his  will. 

"  Now,  boys,  sit  down  here.  Dick,  there's  the  measure — 
draw  away,  and  help  yourselves." 

Nothing  was  said  in  reply ;  the  running  liquor  alone 
sounded  through  the  still  room,  and  then  the  smack  of  the 
lips  as  each  in  turn  gulped  down  the  liquid  fire. 

"  I  wouldn't  have  called  you,  boys,  to-night,  but  I  have  a 
job  on  hand  that  must  be  done  now  or  never." 

"  We're  ready,"  said  two  of  the  persons  addressed,  who 
were  now  seated  on  a  bench  near  the  counter. 

"  You  are  all  ready,  I  hope,"  said  Cross,  who  stood  up 
before  them,  and  eyed  the  individual  who  was  the  youngest 
of  the  three,  and  had  not  united  in  the  assent.  "  No  skulk 
ing  now,  Jo." 

"  No,  no,  I'm  ready  for  any  thing — that  is,  I  s'pose  you 
don't  want  no  bloody  work  ?" 

"  You  are  always  afraid  of  blood,  Jo.  I've  never  set  you 
at  any  such  work,  have  I  ?" 

"  No,  not  exactly — but  we  have  come  pretty  near  it  some 
times,  you  know." 

"  '  Pretty  near  it'  never  hurt  any  body." 

"  Well,  let's  have  the  story,"  said  the  eldest  of  the  gang  , 
"  if  there  is  any  thing  to  do  to-night,  it's  time  to  be  about  it.' 

"  You  are  the  fellow,  Dick ;" — and  Cross  laid  his  hand 
familiarly  on  the  ruffian,  and  gave  him  one  or  two  hearty 
slaps  on  the  back,  in  manifestation  of  his  warm  approval, 
and  as  a  stimulant  to  the  performance  of  his  reasonable  re 
quest. 

The  demand  of  Mr.  Cross  upon  their  services  was  made 
in  a  low  tone,  and  listened  to  by  them  with  the  deepest  at 
tention,  each  head  drooping,  and  with  eyes  in  a  gazing  atti 
tude  fixed  upon  the  floor. 

His  directions  were  given  with  great  clearness ; — the 
horses  they  were  to  ride,  the  part  of  the  premises  they  were 
to  fire,  which  of  them  was  to  enter  the  house  and  seize  the 
trunk,  and  who  the  individual  that  should  bear  it  with  the 
utmost  speed  to  the  dark  rendezvous,  where  he,  Cross,  would 
be  in  waiting  to  receive  it. 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  215 

"  And  if  it  goes  well  you  shall  be  made  men — you  hear 
that  ?" 

"  Yes."  But  they  had  heard  the  same  before,  and  were 
yet  the  drudges  of  his  will.  His  power  over  them  they 
knew — his  frown  they  feared ;  and  his  command  must  be 
obeyed. 

Every  word  that  passed  came  up  with  painful  distinct 
ness  to  the  ears  of  the  young  man  who  lay  above  them, 
almost  breathless  in  his  dread  lest  some  sound,  even  the  beat 
of  his  heart  against  the  planks,  should  be  heard,  and  his 
presence  discovered.  He  knew  well  the  desperate  character 
of  the  men,  and  that  he  must  move  with  wary  steps. 

Every  thing  is  at  length  arranged,  and  he  hears  them 
again  fortifying  their  spirits  by  a  deep  draught.  The  door 
is  opened,  and,  one  by  one,  they  steal  out,  but  apparently 
with  little  zest  for  the  work  before  them.  Cross  waited  a 
moment  on  the  threshold,  until  they  disappeared  amid  the 
dark  pines,  and  then,  muttering  curses  on  the  men  who  were 
about  to  blacken  their  souls  with  a  heinous  crime  for  his 
sake,  he  stepped  back  into  the  store,  poured  out  some  gin 
from  his  bottle,  took  a  long  drink,  threw  himself  into  one  of 
the  chairs,  and,  leaning  back  against  the  counter,  amused 
himself  with  swinging  his  heel  against  one  of  the  rungs. 

Bill  Brown — for  it  was  he  who  had  been  the  providential 
listener  to  this  vile  scheme — had  learned  more  in  one  short 
lesson  than  through  his  whole  life  before.  Light,  as  though 
from  heaven,  flashed  upon  him ;  the  dreadful  character  of 
his  employer  was  revealed  in  all  its  blackness.  Fear  like 
wise  had  taken  hold  upon  him  ;  a  groan,  a  movement,  even 
too  loud  a  breath,  might  place  him  in  an  instant  on  the  verge 
of  eternity. 

And  then,  too,  the  dreadful  fate  which  hung  over  that 
family.  Bill  had  been  a  recreant  to  the  path  of  duty ;  his 
mother's  counsels  he  had  set  light  by,  and  too  often  had  he 
ridiculed  the  interest  which  she  felt  in  those  friends  of  her 
early  days,  and  had  done  his  best  to  persuade  Hettie  against 
making  her  home  there ;  but  now  he  would  give  half  his  life 
for  the  power  of  flying  to  them.  How  he  longed  to  grapple 
with  the  hateful  wretch,  and  then  spread  the  alarm  ere  their 
mansion  was  wrapped  in  flames,  and  perhaps  some  of  the 
family,  victims  to  their  fury.  But  he  knew  that  Cross  was 
armed,  and  a  powerful  man. 


216  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 


The  tramp  of  horses  is  heard  ;  his  heart  sinks  within 
him ;  furiously  they  pass  the  place,  and  far,  far  away,  the 
sounds  come  back  fainter  and  fainter  upon  the  stillness  of 
the  night. 

How  long  he  thus  remained  he  could  not  tell,  for  minutes 
are  hours  when  the  heart  is  in. such  exciting  suspense.  At 
length  he  hears  the  snap  of  a  watch-case.  Cross  rises  from 
his  seat,  opens  the  door,  fastens  it  from  without,  and  is  off. 
Bill  waited  not  to  hear  his  retiring  footsteps ;  he  springs  to 
the  floor,  hastens  to  a  window,  of  which  he  had  not  thought 
in  his  first  attempt ;  it  opened  on  one  side  of  the  building 
and  was  seldom  used.  The  sash  creaked  as  he  forced  it 
through  the  mouldy  casement — and  quickly  letting  himself 
down,  carefully  closed  the  shutters,  and  then  looking  around 
as  though  the  avenger  of  blood  might  be  watching  for  him, 
crossed  the  road  and  entered  a  thick  covert  of  pines.  He 
turned  and  looked  at  the  long  dark  building  where  he  had 
wasted  so  much  of  his  past  life — 

'•  If  I  once  get  beyond  your  reach,  good-by  to  you  for 
ever." 

Distracting  were  the  thoughts  which  rioted  within  the 
mind  of  this  youth.  He  was  sure  that  the  villains  were  full 
an  hour  in  advance  of  him,  and  the  work  of  destruction  no 
doubt  begun  ere  this.  To  pursue  them  would  be  fruitless, 
as  preventing  the  catastrophe ;  to  go  in  the  opposite  direc 
tion  and  seek  his  mother's  home,  would  be  to  fill  her  soul 
with  unavailable  terrors.  No  house  was  near,  but  the  one 
from  which  he  had  just  escaped — no  human  being  within 
some  miles,  to  whom  he  should  dare  communicate  what  he 
knew.  It  was  full  nine  miles  to  Mr.  Rutherford's.  His  ut 
most  haste  would  only  enable  him,  in  all  probability,  to  wit 
ness  the  smouldering  ruins  of  their  mansion,  and,  oh,  dread 
ful  thought !  the  ashes  of  his  own  sister,  perhaps.  He  could 
think  no  further ;  the  spirit  of  vengeance  stirred  strong 
within — he  groped  about  for  something  that  might  serve  him 
for  a  weapon,  and  happily  laid  hold  of  a  strong  chestnut  club ; 
brandishing  it  in  his  hand  and  testing  its  strength  by  a  blow 
upon  the  ground — 

"  If  I  can  do  nothing  more,  I  will  make  one  of  them  feel 
the  weight  of  an  avenging  arm." 

He  is  resolved  to  urge  on  his  way  towards  the  scene  of 
mischief.  He  remembers,  too,  that  in  the  instructions  which 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  217 


Cross  had  given,  one  of  them,  on  the  fleetest  horse,  was  to 
seize  the  trunk  and  hasten  off.  He  might  meet  him  alone, 
and  possibly  rescue  the  prize,  if  nothing  more. 

Never  had  the  road  seemed  so  interminable,  and  his 
utmost  speed  was  to  his  burning  spirit  but  a  snail's  pace. 
Still  he  presses  on — a  long  hill  is  before  him  ;  when  he 
reaches  its  summit  he  will  be  near  the  edge  of  the  barrens — • 
he  heeds  not  the  ascent — his  whole  frame  is  nerved  with  an 
energy  he  never  has  felt  before — it  is  his  first  essay  in  the 
path  of  duty — as  he  reaches  the  top  a  faint  streak  of  light 
seems  to  tinge  the  distant  cloud — his  heart  beats  with  deep 
emotion — an  instant  more,  and  a  flush  of  light  suffuses 
the  whole  heavens.  He  could  scream,  in  the  intensity  of 
his  feelings — he  thinks  he  hears  a  sound — he  pauses  to 
listen — it  is — it  is — the  fiendish  plot  is  accomplished,  and 
the  villains  are  returning  with  the  spoil.  The  tramp  of  one 
horse,  however,  can  only  be  heard  as  yet — the  rider  doubt 
less  bears  the  fatal  treasure.  The  resolution  of  a  whole  life 
fires  his  breast  and  nerves  him  with  a  fixed  determination  to 
grapple  with  the  wretch — the  horseman  is  galloping  up  the 
hill — his  jaded  beast  lags  as  he  nears  the  top.  Bill  crouches 
behind  some  bushes  near  the  travelled  path — his  eye  is  on  the 
horseman — it  has  caught  sight  of  the  burden,  borne  in  front 
of  him.  With  a  single  bound  he  grasps  the  rein  at  the 
horse's  head,  and  levelling  a  desperate  blow,  brings  rider 
and  trunk  to  the  ground.  The  horse,  affrighted,  tears  down 
the  road,  and  makes  directly  for  his  home.  Bill  stoops  to 
secure  the  trunk,  not  knowing  or  caring  whether  his  victim 
is  dead  or  not,  when  his  antagonist,  who  is  only  stunned 
by  the  blow,  springs  upon  him  !  They  know  each  other  well, 
and  have  often  tried  each  other's  strength  in  sport — they  are 
nearly  matched — both  young  and  possessed  of  great  muscu 
lar  power.  Bill  is  now  nerved  with  the  energy  of  right, 
and  the  other  with  the  strength  of  despair,  maddened,  too, 
with  a  desire  for  revenge.  The  violence  with  which  they 
grapple  brings  both  to  the  earth — it  is  a  death-struggle — 
each  endeavoring  to  get  his  opponent  under,  and  each  by 
turns  gaining  the  advantage,  until  at  length  Bill  lies  appa 
rently  at  the  mercy  of  his  adversary,  whose  hand  is  fast 
clenched  to  his  throat  while  he  exerts  his  utmost  strength  to 
strangle  him.  Bill  feels  that  his  hour  has  come,  for  the 
death-grip  which  binds  his  throat  is  palsying  his  strength. 
10 


218  JAMES   MONTJOY  J     OR, 


One  arm.  however,  is  free — he  clutches  in  his  despair  for  some 
thing  that  might  serve  him  for  a  weapon — his  club  lay  within 
his  grasp — hope  springs  to  his  heart — he  brings  down  the 
weapon  with  a  desperate  effort,  and  it  fell  on  the  head  of  his 
opponent.  Bill  felt  the  tight  clench  relax,  and  putting  forth 
his  last  powers,  renews  the  blow.  It  has  done  the  work. 
With  scarce  strength  enough  to  throw  off  the  body  of  the 
now  helpless  man,  he  attempts  to  rise,  but  in  his  effort  to  do 
this,  the  blood  gushed  in  a  torrent  from  his  lungs.  He  be 
lieves  that  he  has  killed  the  wretched  being  beside  him,  and 
that  he  himself  is  parting  with  life.  His  reason  is  bright  as 
ever — he  takes  up  the  trunk,  and  creeping  as  he  best  can, 
leaves  the  road,  hoping  to  reach  a  hut  which  he  knows  is  near 
by,  deliver  his  charge,  and  then  die,  if  so  it  must  be.  But 
his  strength  is  less  than  he  supposes — he  can  drag  his 
trembling  body  but  a  short  distance.  Gradually  his  powers 
depart — a  strange  and  dreamy  sleep  comes  over  him,  and 
soon  all  earthly  sounds  and  sense  of  earthly  care  are  gone, 
and  there  he  lies,  still  clenching  the  object  for  which  he 
struggled  so  desperately. 

Scarcely  had  this  scene  transpired,  when  the  companions 
of  the  wretched  being  who  lay  stretched  upon  the  highway 
came  hurrying  along  ;  their  horse  started  from  the  track. 
Casting  their  eyes  at  the  object  that  had  caused  it,  they 
both  sprang  to  the  earth,  examined  a  moment  to  ascertain 
who  and  what  it  was,  and  then  looking  at  each  other,  simul 
taneously  uttered  a  horrid  oath.  But  there  was  no  time  to 
loiter ;  the  body  must  not  be  there  to  tell  a  tale. 

"  He's  dead,  Dick,  so  let's  throw  him  across  the  horse, 
and  be  off." 

"  He's  dead  enough,  Jo  ; — but  where  is  the  trunk  ?  we 
can't  go  without  that.  We  had  better  not  meet  the  old  man, 
if  that  is  gone." 

Uttering  all  kinds  of  imprecations  on  their  own  souls  for 
having  had  any  thing  to  do  with  the  business,  and  wishing 
old  Cross  all  manner  of  evil,  as  they  groped  about  in  vain  for 
the  prolific  cause  of  all  this  mischief,  in  utter  desperation  they 
caught  hold  of  the  body :  a  groan  caused  them  to  drop  it 
instantly, — 

"  Ned,  are  you  alive  ?  Can  you  tell  us  where  the  trunk 
is  ?"  There  was  no  reply ;  but  the  body  was  warm,  and  of 
course  life  was  in  it.  How  to  proceed  they  knew  not ;  and 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  219 


their  guilty  consciences  urged  them  to  do  something,  with 
speed.  In  their  dilemma,  they  sent  forth  again  on  the  still 
night-air  curses  too  profane  for  'human  ears  ;  the  light,  too, 
of  that  foul  deed  they  had  committed  was  growing  brighter 
and  brighter ;  far  over  the  murky  sky  it  spread,  and  its  blood- 
red  glare  came  down  upon  them,  exposing  to  their  strained 
eyes  the  first  tokens  of  the  avenger's  rod. 

At  length,  in  their  desperation,  they  determined  to  place 
the  wounded  and  dying  man  astride  the  horse,  between  them. 
It  was  no  easy  matter  to  accomplish  this,  and  more  than  one 
groan  escaped  the  sufferer ;  but  the  strait  they  were  in  was 
urgent ;  they  could  not  be  deterred  by  trifles. 

Not  far  from  the  dwelling  of  Mr.  Cross,  about  half  a 
mile  in  a  direct  line,  a  great  change  was  visible  in  the  size 
of  the  timber  and  the  aspect  of  the  woods  :  the  fine  tall  trees, 
with  no  undergrowth,  and  scarcely  a  bush  to  obstruct  the 
passage  through  them  in  any  direction,  were  suddenly  ex 
changed  for  a  thick  and  tangled  mass  of  scrub  pines,  inter 
mixed  with  alder  and  black  birch.  The  road  leading  through 
it,  or  rather  into  it,  showed  clearly  its  unfrequented  condi 
tion  ;  the  whole  tract  being  left,  after  the  first  fine  growth  of 
timber  had  been  taken  off,  to  bring  forth  what  it  best  could, 
none  then  living  expecting  to  reap  much  benefit  from  it. 
The  soil  was  sandy,  with  scarcely  any  stones  to  be  seen, 
except  occasionally  a  small  boulder,  which,  as  it  lay  discon 
nected  with  any  of  its  species,  impressed  the  mind  with 
the  idea  that  it  was  out  of  its  place,  and  was  there  by  ac 
cident. 

One  spot,  however,  on  this  lone  region,  presented  a  sin 
gular  contrast  to  all  the  rest ;  a  few  rods  from  the  only  road 
which  passed  into  it,  was  an  open,  clear  place,  almost  a 
perfect  circle  in  its  form,  and  about  a  hundred  feet  in  diam 
eter,  upon  which  was  neither  shrub  nor  tree  ;  the  whole  area 
being  a  flat  granite  rock,  without  seam  or  crack ;  it  was  not 
indeed  a  perfect  level,  but  the  protuberances  upon  its  sur 
face  were  scarcely  noticeable,  except  as  you  walked  across  it. 

To  this  spot  had  Cross  directed  his  emissaries,  after  they 
should  have  accomplished  his  purpose ; — it  was  lonely  and 
desolate,  and  well  chosen  for  such  a  rendezvous. 

What  were  his  feelings,  as  he  paced  up  and  down  that 
rock,  lighted  by  the  lurid  glare  reflected  from  the  cloud 
above  him,  it  would  not  be  very  profitable  for  us  to  know  j 


220  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

nor  shall  I  attempt  to  uncover  the  hideous  secrets  of  such  a 
heart.  But  there  he  walked  and  watched  for  two  long  hours 
— long  indeed  they  seemed  to  him — and  as  he  paused  ever 
and  anon  to  listen  for  approaching  steps,  would  curse  their 
tardiness,  and  then  resume  his  lone  and  heavy  tramp. 

At  length  he  heard  the  sound  of  voices,  and  the  slow 
tread  of  a  single  horse.  In  his  haste  to  anticipate  the  ac 
complishment  of  his  vile  wish,  he  left  the  rock  and  hurried 
to  the  road  ;  one  of  them  had  dismounted,  and  was  about  to 
pass  from  the  road  to  the  trysting-place,  the  other  main 
tained  his  place  upon  the  horse,  holding  the  helpless  body 
of  his  companion. 

Their  tale  was  soon  told,  for  there  was  not  much  to  say ; 
mystery  lay  upon  every  thing  concerning  the  wounded  man, 
or  the  trunk  which  had  been  committed  to  him. 

Cross  listened  awhile  to  their  story,  his  rage  gathering 
fire  until,  bursting  through  all  bounds,  it  broke  forth  like 
a  volcano.  He  caught  the  one  who  was  standing  near  him 
by  the  throat,  and  drawing  a  pistol  from  his  breast — 

"  You  lie,  you  villain  !  you  know  you  lie  !  Tell  me  this 
moment  where  you  have  put  that  trunk,  or  I  will  blow  your 
perjured  soul  from  your  body — tell  me,  quick." 

Overcome  with  fatigue  from  the  great  exertion  of  the 
night,  and  with  a  consciousness  of  the  atrocity  of  their  crime, 
the  young  man  exclaimed,  in  broken  accents,  weeping  as  he 
spoke, 

"  You  may  blow  my  soul  out  if  you  please,  Mr.  Cross  ; — 
but  as  there  is  a  God  above,  I  cannot  tell  you  where  it  is." 

Throwing  the  young  man  away  from  him,  with  a  force 
that  brought  him  to  the  earth,  he  dashed  the  pistol  down 
with  maniac  rage,  tore  his  hair,  foamed  at  the  mouth,  and 
fairly  howled  in  the  violence  of  his  anger.  For  a  while  the 
witnesses  looked  on  in  apparent  apathy,  seeming  to  care  but 
little  how  much  he  vented  his  spite  upon  himself.  At  length 
the  one  who  still  retained  his  seat  upon  the  horse  very  coolly 
asked, 

"  What  shall  we  do  with  Ned?  if  he  was  dead  we  might 
bury  him ;  but  seeing  there  is  life  in  him,  it  wouldn't  be 
quite  so  well,  may  be  ; — he  may  yet  come  to.  so  as  to  tell 
who  hurt  him,  and  may  be  some  other  things  had  better  be 
seen  to,  for  the  night  is  wearing  away,  and" — 

Cross,  enraged  as  he  was,  felt  that  there  was  reason  in 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  221 

this,  and,  moreover,  that  it  was  of  the  greatest  consequence 
to  him,  that  the  wounded  man  should  be  taken  care  of,  and 
placed  beyond  the  reach  of  meddlers. 

"  You  are  right.  Take  him  down  to  the  back  part  of  the 
east  swamp — you  know  who  lives  there.  Tell  Meg  I  sent 
him ;  that  no  one  must  know  he  is  there ;  she  must  do  what 
she  can  to  bring  life  in  him,  and  as  soon  as  he  can  speak  to 
let  me  know." 

He  stooped  and  picked  up  his  pistol,  uncocked  the  trig 
ger.  replaced  it  in  his  bosom,  and  walked  on  his  way,  mut 
tering  curses,  and  pondering  the  best  manner  to  avert  the 
danger  of  discovery,  which  these  untoward  events  threatened. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  trial  which  had  fallen  upon  the  family  of  Mr.  Ruther 
ford  was  one  so  new  and  unexpected,  that,  with  the  exception 
of  himself  and  wife,  but  little  effect  was  made  upon  the  mem 
bers  of  it. 

A  vague  report,  indeed,  ran  through  the  house  of  some 
trouble  that  had  befallen  its  master,  but  what  was  the  nature 
of  it  they  could  not  well  define.  To  Hettie  alone  had  Mrs. 
Rutherford  confided  the  secret ;  for  she  felt  that  her  strong 
attachment,  her  faithful  disposition,  and  her  discreet  be 
havior,  entitled  her  to  confidence.  She  received  the  infor 
mation  with  a  heart  bleeding  in  sympathy,  but  manifested 
so  much  good  sense,  had  so  many  encouraging  things  to  say, 
and  put  on  such  a  calm,  peaceful  look,  that  Mrs.  R.  felt  that 
she  had  indeed  a  prop  to  lean  upon  in  this  lovely  girl.  All 
that  day  Hettie  went  about  with  a  sprightliness  beyond  what 
was  usual,  taking  from  Mrs.  R.  all  her  cares  and  duties  im 
mediately  domestic,  and  exerting  every  effort  to  put  as  bright 
a  face  upon  the  family  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  The 
servants  in  the  kitchen  had  whisperings  among  themselves, 
but  further  than  that,  there  was  no  sign  that  any  change  had 
taken  place.  They  little  knew  the  cause  of  bitter  anguish 
that  wrung  the  master's  heart ; — every  thing  to  them  ap 
peared  as  heretofore :  their  beautiful  mansion,  the  pleasant 


222  JAMES    MONTJOY  ]     OR. 

grounds  about  it,  the  noble  trees,  like  guardian  spirits,  hover 
ing  in  silent  watch,  and  all  the  clustering  comforts  that 
spread  such  a  satisfying  charm  over  the  whole,  to  them  looked 
as  sure  as  ever ;  to  him  they  were  but  shadows  of  the  past — 
things  that  had  been,  but  are  not — by  one  fell  stroke  swept, 
all  swept  away. 

After  the  distracting  scenes  of  the  morning,  Mr.  Ruther 
ford  prepared  to  make  a  journey  of  some  miles,  in  order  to 
attend  to  business  connected  with  the  peculiar  situation  of 
his  affairs,  and  more  especially  to  consult  a  legal  friend,  and 
get  such  advice  as  his  case  demanded. 

Not  expecting  to  return  until  the  following  day,  he  bade 
adieu  to  his  dear  family  with  a  sad  heart ;  and  as  he  mounted 
his  favorite  horse,  and  rode  away  from  his  much-loved  home 
— now  his  no  more — he  felt  that  he  was  under  the  chastening 
rod — the  hand  of  God  was  upon  him. 

It  is  said  that  birds  of  prey  can  scent  their  victims  from 
afar,  and  spy  the  hidden  carcass,  however  secret  the  spot 
where  it  may  fall. 

It  must  have  been  by  some  such  instinctive  power  that 
our  old  acquaintance,  Mr.  Richard  Tucker,  was  affected, 
on  the  day  that  witnessed  the  catastrophe  of  Mr.  Ruther 
ford's  concerns.  His  place  of  residence  was  some  miles  off, 
and  no  tidings  had  he  received  of  any  such  event ;  and  yet 
his  yellow  gig  was  that  day  put  in  requisition,  and  north 
ward  he  must  go. 

"  I  shall  be  home  by  night,  may  be." 

This  was  all  that  he  deigned  to  say,  as  he  left  his  home, 
and  the  old  gig  squeaked  and  rattled,  as  his  raw-boned  mare 
started  off  at  a  round  trot ; — perhaps  she  scented  her  mas 
ter's  game. 

About  a  mile  from  the  Rutherford  estate,  there  was  a 
small  collection  of  buildings  ;  it  bore  the  title  of  village, 
however,  and  comprised  a  church,  a  blacksmith's  shop,  and  a 
tavern,  as  also  a  few  small  and  plain  tenements.  The  tav 
ern,  of  course,  was  the  rendezvous  through  the  week,  and  the 
place  where  all  the  news  and  scandal  could  be  enjoyed.  It 
was  soon  known  around  that  trouble  had  fallen  on  the  great 
man  of  that  region,  and  a  larger  number  than  usual  was 
congregated  there,  just  after  dinner.  But,  to  their  credit  be 
it  said,  a  feeling  of  deep  regret  was  very  manifest :  not  a 
tongue  was  loosened  against  the  sufferer,  nor  was  there  one 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  223 

among  them  disposed  to  take  any  measures  for  his  own  se 
curity,  although  to  most  of  them  he  was  indebted  for  services 
of  different  kinds. 

"  George  Rutherford,"  said  an  aged  portly  man,  who  seem 
ed  to  be  the  oracle  of  the  place,  and  who  had  taken  the  large 
arm-chair  on  the  wide  front  piazza  of  the  tavern,  "  I  have 
known  from  a  boy  ;  and  if  there  ever  was  an  honest  man  and 
a  gentleman,  he  is  one.  Things  have  been  going  hard  with 
him  for  some  time,  that  we  all  know ;  he  has  had  cunning 
chips  to  deal  with,  and  may  be  they  have  ruined  him  ;  but 
sooner  than  take  the  law  of  him,  I  will  lose  all  he  owes  me, 
at  any  rate. 

"  So  would  I ;"  and  "  So  would  I,"  resounded  on  all 
sides. 

"  But  here  comes  Dick,"  said  the  first  speaker.  "  I  won 
der  what  he  is  after? — hunting  for  a  job,  I  guess." 

And  the  old  yellow  gig  drove  up,  and  Mr.  Tucker,  with 
all  the  elasticity  of  a  young  man,  sprang  from  his  seat  and 
alighted  on  the  lower  step. 

"  Good  afternoon,  gentlemen  ;"  and  Mr.  Tucker  bowed 
very  stiffly,  which  perhaps  he  was  obliged  to  do,  for  his  coat 
was  buttoned  up  close  to  the  neck — a  habit  he  maintained 
at  all  seasons. 

"  Good  day,  Mr.  Tucker ;  you  seem  to  be  in  a  hurry, 
neighbor ;  the  old  mare  is  quite  out  of  breath." 

"  Oh  no,  not  at  all,"  turning  at  the  same  time  and  eyeing 
his  beast ;  "  she  always  breathes  so.  You  may  put  her  un 
der  the  shed,  Jo,"  addressing  a  good-natured-looking  black, 
who  stood  waiting  orders  at  the  head  of  the  beast. 

"  Yes,  massa.     Any  oats,  massa?" 

"  No — well — I  don't  care — yes.  You  may  give  her  a 
mess — two  quarts,  Jo.  Wet  them,  you  hear  ?" 

Jo  took  the  mare  by  the  head,  turned  his  face  away  from 
the  company,  opened  his  broad  mouth,  and  went  grinning 
along  to  the  shed. 

"  My  golly  !  two  quarts — ha,  ha,  ha  !  a  half  bushel  no  fill 
her  belly — ha,  ha,  ha  !" 

Mr.  Richard  has  not  altered  much  since  we  last  saw  him, 
either  in  appearance  or  disposition.  Why  he  had  come 
along  that  afternoon,  no  one  knew  ;  nor  did  he  seem  to  be 
making  preparation  as  though  he  had  a  job  on  hand.  He 
heard  the  news  of  Mr.  Rutherford's  disaster  with  apparent 


224  JAMES   MONTJOY  ]     OR, 

indifference ; — I  say  apparent,  for  there  is  no  doubt  he  felt 
much  and  deeply;  he  talked  with  one  and  another,  making  very 
few  remarks,  but  asking  a  great  many  questions,  and  occasion 
ally  shrugging  his  shoulders  and  knitting  his  dark  eyebrows 
— it  was  a  way  he  had.  What  effect  his  pantomime  had  upon 
those  with  whom  he  conversed  was  not  very  manifest,  for  they 
finally  dropped  off,  one  by  one,  leaving  no  orders  behind 
them. 

It  is  an  old  saying,  "  If  one  won't,  another  will."  Mr. 
Richard,  no  doubt,  had  heard  the  saying,  and  must  have  had 
considerable  faith  in  it,  for  there  was  not  an  individual, 
either  high  or  low,  that  escaped  his  attentions. 

The  trish  are  proverbially  susceptible.  Whether  Mr. 
Richard  knew  this  as  a  historical  fact,  I  will  not  pretend  to 
say,  nor  whether  it  led  him  to  make  a  more  direct  and  posi 
tive  attack  on  poor  Pat  than  he  had  done  upon  others  that 
day ;  the  result  however  was.  that  Jerry  Malony,  a  rather 
good-natured  fellow,  to  whom  Mr.  Rutherford  was  indebted 
for  a  summer's  ditching,  and  whose  pay  was  as  sure  as  though 
already  in  his  own  hands,  was  suddenly  seized  with  great 
terrors,  in  view  of  the  certain  loss  of  all  his  hard  earnings, 
and  with  a  distressing  anxiety  to  become  possessed,  as  a 
means  of  securing  himself,  of  a  pair  of  fine  black  horses,  then 
in  the  possession  of  said  Rutherford. 

We  will  not  enter  into  all  the  particulars ;  suffice  it  to 
say,  that  Mr.  Tucker  and  Mr.  Malony  adjourned  from  the 
east  corner  of  the  piazza  to  a  private  room  inside  the  build 
ing,  and  thence  to  a  justice  of  the  peace,  and  thence  back 
again  to  the  bar-room  ;  and  finally  the  two  worthy  gentlemen 
were  wishing  each  other  very  good  health,  and  confirming 
their  wishes  by  potent  draughts  of  genuine  Monongahela. 
There  were  many  little  arrangements  to  be  made,  which  oc 
cupied  them  until  the  shades  of  evening  had  settled  very 
decidedly  upon  the  land. 

Old  Caesar,  the  coachman,  with  whom  we  once  became 
acquainted  on  the  little  journey  Mr.  Rutherford  and  his  lady 
took  through  the  barrens,  some  years  since,  was  still  alive, 
and,  to  all  appearance,  active  as  ever.  The  old  blacks,  too, 
had  lost  none  of  their  strength  or  fire,  for  they  were  never 
overburdened,  and  being  under  the  exclusive  charge  of  Caesar, 
were  daily  tended  with  as  much  care  as  though  they  had 
been  pet  horses  of  a  prince ;  their  dark  hides  shone  as 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  225 

brightly  as  Caesar's  countenance  did,  after  a  good  supper,  and 
all  their  appurtenances  were  kept  in  the  most  perfect  order. 
To  say  that  Caasar  was  fond  of  these  creatures,  whom  he  had 
tended  and  driven  so  long,  would  not  express  all  his  emo 
tions  towards  them ;  they  were,  next  to  his  master  and  mis 
tress  and  their  children,  the  objects  that  engrossed  his  feel 
ings — and  Caesar  had  very  strong  feelings,  too — his  life  he 
would  have  risked,  or  even  sacrificed,  to  have  preserved  any 
of  them  from  harm.  He  had  no  wife  or  children  of  his  own, 
nothing  to  love  except  his  master's  family  ;  and  no  wonder 
then,  if  for  these  beasts,  who  obeyed  every  expression  of  his 
will,  and  pawed  and  neighed  and  pranced,  and  did  all  but  talk 
to  him,  when  they  heard  his  step  approaching,  he  had  peculiar 
feelings.  Moreover,  Caesar  was  very  proud  of  them  :  for  they 
were  acknowledged,  far  and  near,  to  be  a  noble  span;  and, 
to  crown  all,  they  were  looked  upon  as  his  own.  Mr. 
Rutherford  never  claimed  any  further  right  to  them  than 
the  privilege  of  a  ride  occasionally. 

Caesar  knew  very  little  about  his  master's  troubles  ;  he 
had,  indeed,  heard  some  whispering  in  the  kitchen  among  the 
women  ;  but  he  paid  no  further  heed  to  it  than  to  bestow  a 
back-handed  blessing  on  their  tongues. 

"  Dey-  are  always  a-goin'  jabbering  about  sumpin'  or  an- 
oder — de  debil  can't  stop  'em.  Massa  George  know  he  own 
business  well  enough,  neber  fear." 

As  Caesar's  principal  employment  of  late  years  was  to 
attend  to  the  horses,  he  had  persuaded  his  master  to  fit  him 
a  room  in  the  building  where  they  were  kept,  so  that,  in  case 
any  accident  should  occur  to  them  in  the  night,  he  could  be 
on  hand.  A  door  opened  from  this  room,  immediately  into 
the  stable ;  and  as  the  whole  premises  were  kept  with  the 
greatest  care,  there  might  be  found  much  less  eligible  sleep 
ing  apartments  in  places  that  made  greater  pretensions. 
Caesar,  however,  did  not  sleep  there  entirely  alone.  Besides 
his  pets,  the  horses,  he  had  a  dog  of  the  real  mastiff  breed, 
that  had  been  trained  with  much  care,  and  was  as  completely 
under  the  will  of  Caesar  as  the  other  quadrupeds  ;  he  was  a 
large,  powerful  creature,  and  unless  under  the  complete  control 
of  a  master,  would  have  been  dangerous  ;  but  at  Caesar's  word, 
he  would  be  passive  as  a  lamb,  and  at  his  bidding,  would  lay 
the  stoutest  man  upon  his  back,  and  hold  him  there  without 
10* 


226  JAMES  MONTJOY;    OR, 


doing  further  violence,  unless  there  was  the  least  attempt  at 
resistance. 

Mr.  Richard  and  his  client  Jerry,  had  been  sitting  on  the 
piazza  of  the  tavern,  watching  for  the  return  of  Mr.  Ruther 
ford,  who  must  pass  that  way  to  his  house ;  hour  after  hour 
slipped  by,  and  they  looked  in  vain. 

"  It's  striking  nine,  your  honor ;  shall  we  wait  any 
longer?" 

''  It  is  my  opinion,  my  good  fellow,  that  we  might  as  well 
be  on  our  way.  As  a  matter  of  form,  perhaps,  it  might  be 
well  enough  just  to  make  the  demand  ;  but  as  there  is  no 
probability,  if  it  is  all  true  that  I  hear,  not  the  least  proba 
bility  that  he  can  pay  it,  or  will  ever  pay  it,  your  only 
chance,  my  friend,  is,  as  I  say," — slapping  his  hand  on  Jerry's 
knee — "clap  on  to  something  tangible;  and  as  you  say  the 
horses  are  valuable,  they  will  be  about  as  handy  as  any 
thing  I  can  think  of.  They  have  legs,  you  know ;  we  can 
carry  them  off,  or  more  probably,  we  can  make  them  carry  us 
off— ha,  ha,  ha  !" 

All  this  was  said  with  his  face  turned  towards  Malony, 
and  speaking  close  to  his  ear,  while  his  auditor,  being  rather 
short  and  a  little  worse  for  liquor,  sat  very  erect,  and  looked 
as  consequential  as  any  newly  made  Justice  trying  his  first 
cause. 

"  And  as  we  are  to  walk,  I  think  we  may  as  well  be  jog 
ging." 

"I  think  so.  your  honor." 

The  two  worthies  accordingly  walked  slowly  along,  and 
before  a  great  while  -found  themselves  in  the  broad  avenue 
leading  to  Mr.  Rutherford's  mansion. 

'•  You  are  well  acquainted  here,  I  suppose,  Malony  ?  The 
dog  you  speak  of — is  he — is  he — loose  ?" 

"  No,  your  honor,  not  just  loose  ;  he  keeps  tight  to  the 
nigger." 

"  And  he,  you  say.  sleeps  in  the  stable  ?" 

"  Pretty  near  it,  your  honor — close  by." 

"  I  think,  my  good  fellow,  that  we  may  as  well  go  at 
once,  then,  to  the  stable  ;  the  nigger  being  there,  it  will  be 
sufficient  to  demand  them  of  him,  or  to  leave  the  attach 
ment  with  him." 

Mr.  Richard,  it  must  be  premised,  was  not  overburdened 
with  law  knowledge.  The  people  among  whom  he  labored 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  227 

had  taken  his  word  as  law  enough  for  them.  They  found 
it  hard  law  to  be  sure,  but,  poor  souls,  they  knew  no  better, 
and  thought  all  was  right. 

Jerry  had  implicit  confidence  in  his  adviser,  and  so 
walked  bravely  along.  The  dog  being  just  then  uppermost 
in  his  mind,  knowing,  as  he  well  did,  his  ferocious  character, 
he  cared  much  more  about  a  proper  introduction  to  him,  than 
any  nice  point  in  law. 

"  Hadn't  I  better  be  after  strikin'  a  light,  your  honor  ? 
it's  amazin'  dark." 

"  Not  yet,  Malony  ;  not  until  we  reach  the  stable." 

It  cost  master  Jerry  no  little  trouble  to  strike  his  light, 
for  his  hand  was  not  very  steady,  and  as  he  gave  two  blows 
with  his  finger  against  the  steel  to  one  with  the  flint,  there 
was  more  blood  than  sparks  flying. 

"  Bloody  murther  !  that  was  a  pealer  :  it's  taken  the  skin, 
it  has,  your  honor." 

"  Can't  you  hit  it,  Malony  ?" 

"  I  hit  it,  your  honor,  but  my  finger  took  it  fornint  the 
stone." 

Mr.  Richard  now  took  matters  into  his  own  hands, 
and  while  Jerry  was  blowing  and  snapping  his  fingers,  he 
managed  to  get  some  sparks  into  the  tinder,  and  soon  had  his 
lantern  in  trim. 

Caesar  was  about  the  middle  of  his  first  nap,  when  he 
suddenly  awoke  and  found  that  Trap  was  growling  in  a  low 
undertone.  Trap  never  barked,  and  very  seldom  conde 
scended  to  growl.  Caesar  knew  that  there  must  be  some 
thing  going  wrong ;  he  therefore  extricated  his  head  from 
beneath  the  bed-clothes,  and  cast  his  eye  round  the  premises. 
The  lamp  was  still  burning,  and  so  far  as  his  half-opened 
eyelids  would  allow  him  to  see,  there  was  no  one  in  his  room 
besides  the  usual  inmates.  Trap,  to  be  sure,  was  out  of  his 
place,  and  sitting  close  by  his  master's  bed,  looking  very 
significantly  up  at  the  red  nightcap.  As  soon  as  he  perceived 
that  his  master  was  awake,  he  ceased  growling,  like  a  very 
sensible  dog,  as  he  was,  signifying  thereby,  that  his  only  de 
sign  in  using  his  vocal  powers  was  to  stop  the  snoring,  and 
call  his  master's  attention  to  matters  and  things  in  the  waking 
world.  After  rubbing  away  upon  his  eyes  a  while,  and 
working  things  awake  there,  Caesar,  in  a  very  philosophic 
manner,  by  means  of  his  two  arms,  which  he  threw  behind 


228  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

him  and  used  as  levers,  first  to  raise,  and  then  to  support 
and  brace  his  body  up.  attained  a  sufficiently  elevated  posi 
tion  to  see  and  hear  what  was  going  on.  He  was  afraid  of 
nothing  but  witches,  and  for  that  reason  always  had  a  light 
on  hand  ;  it  being  well  known  that  neither  in  daylight  nor 
candle-light  was  any  danger  to  be  apprehended  from  the 
"  good  neighbors."  But  something  or  somebody  was  stirring, 
and  near  by,  too,  for  he  evidently  heard  footsteps  and  voices, 
and,  as  well  as  he  could  make  it  out,  they  must  be  in  the  sta 
ble.  Being  more  or  less  afflicted  with  the  rheumatism,  he 
was  very  deliberate  in  his  movements.  First  throwing  his 
somewhat  recumbent  body  into  a  straight  and  self-supporting 
posture,  and  thereby  relieving  his  arms  from  their  burden  ; 
then  casting  aside  whatever  impeded  his  progress,  in  the 
way  of  covering,  he  turned  his  nether  extremities  by  the 
pivot  principle,  brought  himself  in  position  to  stand  erect  on 
the  floor,  and  proceeded  at  once  to  the  light,  which  was  safely 
shut  up  in  an  old  carriage  lamp,  through  which  the  rays 
streamed  forth  by  a  small  glass  calculated  to  converge  and 
throw  them  far  ahead. 

Caesar  was  somewhat  of  a  gentleman  in  his  feelings,  and 
on  the  subject  of  dress  quite  particular,  for  he  followed  the 
old  fashion  of  small  clothes  and  knee-buckles,  and  broad- 
skirted  coat  and  vest  with  large  lappels,  and  was  ever  ready, 
at  any  short  notice,  to  appear  with  becoming  apparel  in  the 
presence  of  his  mistress.  These  he  wore  by  day ;  but  he 
made  a  complete  change  when  he  laid  these  by  and  put  on  his 
night  rig.  As  he  was  a  bachelor,  and  ladies,  white  or  black, 
had  no  business  about  his  premises  at  night,  he  fixed  him 
self  as  he  thought  best ;  and  his  fancy  was,  red  flannel.  Why 
he  chose  that  color,  he  never  saw  fit  to  communicate ;  it  may 
have  been,  however,  that  his  good  sense  suggested  that  white, 
the  usual  dress,  would  make  too  strong  a  contrast.  He  had  on 
a  red  flannel  cap  that  came  pretty  well  over  his  ears,  and  a  red 
flannel  frock,  or  tunic,  covering  him  from  the  neck  downwards 
to  the  usual  gartering  place  ;  below  that  the  bare  poles  were 
plainly  visible.  To  those  who  knew  him  perfectly,  there  was 
nothing  very  frightful  in  all  this,  because  it  was  Caesar  ;  but  to 
those  who  might  not  have  had  experience  on  their  side,  as  he 
then  appeared,  with  his  lantern  streaming  before  him,  he 
might  have  been  mistaken  for  any  thing  that  was  not  earthly. 

As  Trap  knew  that  his  business  was  to  keep  still  and  re- 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  229 


main  in  his  place  until  called,  so  soon  as  he  saw  his  master  upon 
his  legs  he  was  satisfied  that  all  was  correct,  and  nestled 
quietly  down  on  his  own  bed. 

The  only  weapon  Caesar  ever  kept  on  hand,  was  a  pitch 
fork,  a  very  ugly  sort  of  a  thing  to  come  in  contact  with  ; 
for  in  the  first  place,  it  not  only  makes  two  holes  where  a 
bayonet  or  sword  would  make  but  one,  but  it  gives  great  ad 
vantage  to  the  one  who  uses  it  in  its  length  of  handle ;  this  may 
have  been  the  reason  why  Caesar  preferred  it.  At  any  rate 
there  was  always  one  standing  in  the  corner  of  his  room — it 
had  very  long  and  heavy  tines,  and  a  handle  sufficient  to 
keep  an  enemy  at  a  respectful  and  safe  distance.  Feeling 
that  it  might  be  prudent  to  be  prepared  for  danger,  even  if 
there  was  none,  he  grasped  his  weapon  in  one  hand,  and 
with  the  lamp  in  the  other,  drew  back  the  little  bolt,  and  throw 
ing  the  door  wide  open  by  a  strong  push,  stood  in  bold  relief, 
casting  his  light  round  about  through  the  large,  roomy  sta 
ble,  and  straining  his  eyes  to  ascertain  who  or  what  it  was. 

His  appearance  was  the  cause  of  considerable  surprise  ; 
for  although  Mr.  Malony  had  talked  very  freely  about  the 
nigger,  as  he  was  pleased  to  style  Mr.  Caesar  Rutherford,  and 
although  both  he  and  Mr.  Richard  expected  to  see  him  in  the 
course  of  their  proceedings,  yet  they  could  have  had  no  very 
correct  idea  what  shape  a  mere  mortal,  especially  a  black 
one,  could  assume ;  for  no  sooner  did  their  own  light  throw 
its  beams  upon  this  sudden  apparition,  than  they  both  made 
rapid  retrograde  movements,  Jerry,  in  his  haste,  bringing  up 
against  the  opposite  wall,  and  Mr.  Richard  stepping  back 
towards  the  door,  as  though  it  would  be  safe  at  least  to  be  out 
of  reach  of  the  pitchfork. 

Whether  Caesar  was  alarmed,  it  would  be  difficult  to  say, 
for  he  made  no  motion  other  than  to  throw  the  light  of  his 
lamp,  first  on  one  and  then  on  the  other  of  his  visitors. 

Jerry,  he  thought  he  had  seen  before ;  in  fact,  he  was 
quite  sure  that  he  could  not  be  mistaken  in  the  little  chunky 
Irishman,  who  had  been  so  long  under  his  master's  pay ;  but 
Mr.  Richard,  Caesar  could  not  make  out ;  he  had  never  been 
in  these  parts,  that  he  remembered. 

As  Caesar's  appearance  did  not  improve  upon  inspection, 
and  as  the  two  gentlemen  were  too  far  separated  to  consult  as 
to  further  proceedings,  along  silence  would  have  been  main 
tained,  had  not  Cesar  opened  a  parley — 


230  JAMES    MONTJOY  |     OR, 


"  What  a  you  want  here  ?" 

The  tones  were  not  very  mild,  nor  was  the  address  made 
in  very  good  humor,  for  Caesar  threw  in  a  few  emphatic  words 
which  he  sometimes  used  when  excited,  just  by  way  of  sea 
soning,  and  which  for  brevity's  sake  are  omitted  ;  but  then 
it  was  a  human  voice,  and  it  gave  some  assurance  to  Mr. 
Richard  at  least.  He  therefore  advanced  one  or  two  paces : 

"  Ah,  that's  you,  is  it,  Boss  ?" 

"  Git  out  wid  your  Boss,  and  tell  me  what  a  you  want 
here  dis  time  a  night !" 

"  Oh,  we  don't  want  any  thing  with  you,  my  good  fellow, 
but  we  have  got  a  little  business  here,  that  must  be  attended 
to.  You  know  Malony  here  ?"— turning  at  the  same  time 
towards  his  discomfited  companion : — "  You  know  he's 
been  at  work  here  all  summer  for  your  master.  Here,  Ma 
lony,  step  up  here  ;  you  have  nothing  against  this  good  man, 
you  know." 

But  Malony  preferred  remaining  where  he  was.  Caesar's 
eyes,  he  thought,  showed  a  little  too  much  of  the  white  to 
be  very  safe,  especially  under  the  circumstances. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  disturbed  you,  my  good  fellow,  but 
as  somebody  must  be  notified  before  we  proceed,  I  will  just 
read  the  warrant,  as  I  suppose  you  will  hardly  be  able  to 
make  it  out  yourself;" — and  Mr.  Richard  pulled  out  a  bit  of 
paper  and  began  to  read  rapidly — "  Know  all  men  by  these 
presents,"  &c.  Caesar,  in  the  mean  time,  was  getting  his 
wrath  up.  He  never  liked  the  Irishman,  and  had  often 
cautioned  his  master  against  him  ;  and  Mr.  Richard's  coun 
tenance  not  being,  as  my  readers  will  remember,  very  pre 
possessing,  together  with  the  fawning  manner  in  which  he 
attempted  to  get  round  him,  woke  up  Caesar's  sensibilities  : 

"  Mister,  go  to  grass  wid  your  paper,  and  tell  a  me  what 
you  want,  'sturbing  people  dis  time  a  de  night." 

Mr.  Richard,  being  thus  interrupted  in  his  proceedings, 
stopped  reading,  and  looking  full  in  Caesar's  face — 

"  You  know,  I  suppose,  my  good  man,  that  Mr.  Ruther 
ford  has  failed  ?" 

"Hab  what?" 

"  Has  failed  ;  that  is,  can't  pay  his  debts." 

"  You  a  big  liar." 

Mr.  Richard  didn't  blush  ;  he  never  had  in  his  life  ;  but 
he  began  to  pick  up  a  little  courage. 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  231 

"  You  must  take  care,  old  fellow,  how  you  speak — I  am 
an  officer  of  the  law — take  care,  sir.  Here,  Malony,  lead  out 
one  of  these  horses,  and  I  will  take  the  other." 

"  What  dat  you  say  ? 

And  Csesar  stepped  forward  ;  Mr.  Kichard  retreating,  at 
the  same  time,  until  he  came  to  the  edge  of  the  stall. 

"  Me  like  to  see  you  touch  one  of  dem  horses ;  you  wish 
de  debil  hab  you." 

Mr.  Richard  had  now  come  in  closer  contact  with  Caesar, 
and  perceiving  that  he  was  quite  an  old  man,  and  walked 
rather  stiff,  made  a  sudden  spring,  and  grasped  the  pitch 
fork. 

"  Trap,  Trap." 

There  was  a  rush  from  the  little  room,  and  in  the  next 
moment,  Mr.  Richard  was  lying  on  his  back,  with  the  fore- 
paws  of  master  Trap  resting  one  on  each  shoulder,  and  his 
mouth  presenting  a  row  of  teeth  in  such  dangerous  con 
tiguity  to  Mr.  Richard's  throat,  that  he  began  to  fear  matters 
were  tending  to  extremities,  and  called  out  "  murder,"  at 
the  top  of  his  voice. 

"  Hole  you  lyin'  tongue — he  be  de  death  of  you." 

"  Malony,  Malony  !  help,  help  ;  kill  the  dog — quick — 
take  a  pitchfork — any  thing — do,  my  good  fellow — he'll 
murder  me." 

But  Mr.  Malony  was  not  so  drunk,  but  he  had  sense 
enough  to  see  that  there  was  mischief  brewing  ;  and  no 
sooner  was  Mr.  Richard  on  his  back,  than  he  bolted  and  ran 
for  dear  life,  Mr.  Richard's  cries  only  adding  wings  to  his 
flight  across  lots  for  home. 

"  I  tell  a  you  what,  mister,  you  no  hole  you  tongue  and 
keep  till,  me  let  de  dog  take  you  lights  out  in  a  minit. 
Hole  him  dare,  Trap,  till  a  morning ;  den  we  see  how  ho 
look." 

"  Oh,  good  man  !  good  man  !" — Mr.  Richard  spoke  now 
in  a  whisper — "  do — don't  go  Sway — don't  leave  me  here — 
I  promise  I  will  go  right  off — I  was  only  doing  my  duty  as 
an  officer." 

"  Me  gib  a  you  duty — you  'member  Caesar  next  time  ; — 
take  care  de  horses  no  kick  a  your  brains  out."  There  was 
indeed  a  very  dangerous  proximity  between  Mr.  Richard's 
head  and  the  horses'  heels,  especially  as  they  were  pawing 


232  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

and  prancing  about  under  the  exciting  influence  of  Caesar'a 
voice. 

"  Oh  do,  good  Mr.  Caesar,  for  the  love  of  mercy,  just  take 
the  dog  off,  and  let  me  go  !  I  give  you  my  sacred  honor" — 
But  Caesar  had  no  such  idea.  The  insult  offered  to  his  mas 
ter  and  his  horses  had  steeled  his  heart. 

"  I  tell  a  you  what,  mister  ;  you  no  lay  till,  and  keep  a 
your  tongue,  your  time  is  short ;  he  only  take  two  mouthfull, 
you  be  gone  chicken,  so  good  night  to  you  ;"  and  Caesar  hob 
bled  back  into  his  room. 

The  grave  and  the  gay,  the  mirthful  and  the  sad  are  so 
blended  in  this  world,  that,  in  delineating  any  series  of  events, 
we  find  ourselves  constrained  to  shift  the  scenery  so  often, 
and  so  suddenly,  that  if  we  did  not  know  we  were  sketching 
from  nature,  we  should  fear  to  be  charged  with  drawing 
upon  fancy,  even  to  extravagance. 

Caesar  had  bidden  Mr.  Richard  good  night,  and  to  all 
appearance,  designed  leaving  him,  as  he  said,  "  to  de  mornin', 
to  see  how  he  look  den." 

He  had  been  sorely  disturbed,  and  perhaps  feeling  that  it 
would  be  rather  difficult  to  compose  himself  to  sleep,  under 
the  existing  state  of  things,  he  so  far  arranged  himself  in  his 
day  apparel  that  he  felt  ready  for  any  emergency ;  it  was  not 
according  to  Caesar's  sense  of  propriety  to  be  caught  in  just 
the  shape  he  had  been.  After  fixing  things  a  little  he  threw 
himself  on  the  bed,  talked  away  for  some  time,  and  even 
made  one  or  two  broad  grins,  as  though  there  was  something 
on  his  mind  not  very  unpleasant,  and  finally  sunk  into  a 
dreamy  state,  conscious,  most  of  the  time,  of  the  condition 
of  external  things  immediately  around  him,  and  yet  so  mix 
ed  up  with  things  and  places  very  foreign  to  them,  that  it 
was  not  the  easiest  matter  in  the  world  for  him  to  be  sure 
whether  he  was  asleep  or  awake. 

How  long  he  had  been  lying  in  this  state  it  would  be 
difficult  to  say,  for  time,  under  such  circumstances,  makes  no 
tracks  that  are  perceptible. 

Among  other  ideas  that  flitted  through  his  mind  was 
that  of  a  light  which  kept  flickering  across  his  window,  and 
occasionally  brightening  up  his  whole  room.  For  some  time 
even  after  he  was  awake  he  lay  and  thought  about  it.  Dis 
tinctly  beholding  the  glare,  which  now  had  become  steadily 
bright,  filling  his  whole  room  and  absorbing  completely  the 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  233 


light  of  his  lantern,  suddenly  he  sprang  from  his  bed,  his 
mind  awaking  to  a  full  consciousness  that  something  was 
wrong ;  he  hurried  through  the  stable,  and  calling  off  Trap 
from  the  pitiful  object  who  had  been  writhing  under  his  sur 
veillance,  opened  the  outer  door — 

"  Fire,  fire,  fire  !"  he  called  at  the  full  extent  of  his  voice 
— "  fire,  fire,  fire  !  Oh,  my  missus  and  de  children  ! — the 
Lord  hab  mercy." 

The  old  man  forgot  his  age,  and  ran  with  the  speed  of 
youth. 

The  sight  which  had  burst  upon  him  was  enough  to  have 
nerved  with  energy  the  most  sluggish  and  unfeeling.  On 
Caesar  it  broke  with  most  appalling  interest. 

He  could  not,  indeed,  get  a  full  view,  for  the  house  was 
screened  by  the  large  trees  and  thick  shrubbery  ;  but  enough 
could  be  seen  to  assure  him  that  the  dwelling  was  on  fire  ; 
and  the  inmates,  if  they  had  not  escaped,  were  in  imminent 
danger,  for  the  flames  were  flashing  up  to  the  tops  of  the 
trees,  higher  than  the  roof  of  the  main  building.  In  a  few 
moments  he  was  beside  the  burning  pile,  and  the  whole  ex 
tent  of  the  awful  calamity  was  revealed  to  him.  The  fire  was 
raging  over  the  whole  of  the  back  part  of  the  house,  having 
already  completely  enveloped  the  back  buildings  connected 
with  it,  and  was  throwing  its  forked  flames  over  the  high 
roof,  while  the  pitch-black  smoke,  which  rolled  around  the 
whole  premises  without,  gave  awful  forebodings  of  what 
might  be  the  state  of  things  within.  No  alarm  had  yet 
seized  the  family  that  he  could  discern ;  he  listened  in  vain 
for  any  sound  but  the  terrible  crackling  of  the  raging  fire. 

He  attempted  the  nearest  door,  but  found  it  fastened. 
The  wood-pile  was  at  hand  ;  he  seized  the  axe  ;  at  that  mo 
ment  two  men  came  running  into  the  court-yard  and  calling 
fire.  Caesar  barely  glanced  at  them,  they  were  strangers  to 
him ;  but  he  felt  encouraged  in  his  efforts ;  his  arm  was 
nerved  with  the  strength  of  his  early  days — one  blow  drove 
it  from  its  fastenings,  and  in  he  rushed  amid  the  heat  and 
smoke. 

The  two  men  followed  him,  but  for  a  very  different  pur 
pose  than  to  rescue  the  sleeping  family  from  their  fiery  en 
velope. 

When  Mr.  Rutherford  left  his  home,  as  before  related, 
his  expectation  was  to  remain  until  the  following  day ;  but 


234  JAMES    MONTJOY  ;     OR, 

having  accomplished  his  errand  early  in  the  evening,  he  con 
cluded  to  return  to  his  family.  It  would  occupy  much  of 
the  night,  but  he  preferred  spending  it  on  horseback,  so 
anxious  was  he  to  be  again  with  his  wife  and  children  ;  they 
were  all  he  had  now,  and  his  heart  yearned  after  them  with 
a  warmth  of  affection  he  had  never  realized  before. 

A  little  past  midnight,  as  he  was  turning  the  summit  of 
a  hill,  a  .sudden  flash  of  light  shot  up  in  the  distance ;  he 
thought  it  was  the  glare  of  a  meteor ;  but  painted  on  ths 
clouds  which  overhung  the  western  sky,  it  left  a  deep-red 
glow.  As  he  gazed,  while  slowly  descending  the  hill,  he  saw 
the  flush  extending,  and  gradually  assuming  a  brighter  and 
more  lurid" aspect. 

"  It  must  be  a  fire ; — perhaps  some  poor  sufferers  are 
looking  in  anguish  upon  the  wreck  of  their  little  all." 

And  on  he  went,  ever  and  anon  casting  his  eye  at  the 
clouds,  and  marking  their  curious  forms,  as  the  light  in  fit 
ful  flashes  displayed  their  shape. 

At  times,  across  the  distant  hills,  he  seemed  to  think 
that  he  could  see  the  position  of  the  fire,  but  intervening  ob 
jects  would  again  confine  his  view,  and  he  could  only  discern 
the  light  on  the  clouds  above  him.  Coming  at  length  to  an 
angle  in  the  road,  from  which  he  could  look  in  the  direction 
of  his  home,  he  was  startled  to  find  that  there  was  a  clear 
and  well-defined  streak  of  light  emanating  from  some  burn 
ing  building,  which  must  be  at  least  in  that  vicinity. 

Without  being  conscious  of  any  decided  alarm,  he  urged 
his  horse  to  a  faster  gait,  and  kept  his  eye  more  constantly 
on  the  light.  For  some  miles  from  where  he  lived  the  road 
ran  among  the  hills ;  so  that,  however  great  had  been  his 
anxiety,  it  could  not  be  gratified  until  he  should  emerge  into 
the  open  country.  At  length  he  is  ascending  the  last  emi 
nence  that  intervenes  between  him  and  the  objects  of  his 
affections  ;  the  light  is  still  blazing  on  the  clouds  above  him  ; 
he  hastens  to  the  summit,  and  beholds — heart-rending  sight 
— the  home  of  his  childhood — the  dwelling  where  all  his 
earthly  hopes  and  love  were  clustered — a  mass  of  crumbling 
ruins,  from  which  the  forked  flames  were  shooting  up  and 
crackling  on  the  still  night-air; — those  demon  sounds  went 
in  streams  of  madness  to  his  heart. 

"  Oh,  my  G-od  !"  he  exclaimed ;  and  deep  in  the  sides  of 
his  horse  he  struck  his  spurs,  until  the  blood  flowed  freely, 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  235 

and  the  good  creature  was  urged  into  terrific  speed.  It  was 
but  a  mile,  and  it  was  passed  with  the  whirlwind's  pace. 
Straight  to  the  burning  pile  he  rode  ;  a  few  persons  he  dis 
cerned  collected  as  near  the  fire  as  the  raging  heat  would 
permit. 

"  My  wife  and  children  ! — for  God's  sake  tell  me  quick — 
where  are  they  ?"  He  sprang  from  his  horse,  and  was  in  the 
arms  of  the  faithful  Caesar. 

"  All  safe,  Ma,ssa  George  ! — all  safe,  tank  God  !" 

"  Thank  God  !  thank  God !"  and  he  fell  upon  the  old  man 
like  a  helpless  infant.  He  was  carried  into  an  outhouse,  which 
had  been  spared  by  the  devouring  element,  and  kind  hands 
and  hearts  were  soon  about  him  administering  to  his  relief. 
As  he  awoke  to  consciousness,  his  beloved  Mary  was  bending 
over  him,  and  her  warm  lips  pressed  to  his,  in  the  ecstasy  of 
her  joy. 

"  Oh,  Mary  !  my  dear  wife !  where  are  my  darlings  ? 
bring  them  to  me ;  let  me  clasp  you  all  once  more  !" 

And  quick  they  came.  He  cast  a  look  on  each,  a  fond,  a 
satisfied  look,  and  then  in  one  warm  embrace  he  held 
them  all. 

"  Oh  God  !  this  is  enough — I  ask  no  more.  Let  me 
have  but  these — poverty  in  any  shape  may  come ;  we  will 
not  fear  it." 

"  Amen,  my  dear  husband,  we  will  not  fear  it." 

It  is  often  said,  by  those  who  look  on  the  dark  side  of 
Divine  dispensations,  that  troubles  always  come  in  clusters, 
and  one  deep  sorrow  soon  gives  place  to  another.  This  may 
be  true,  but  not  in  the  sense  which  these  croakers  of  misery 
would  intimate.  As  happiness  and  unhappiness  are  often 
but  relative  terms  in  our  changing  world,  it  needs  but  the 
wise  Director  of  events  so  to  time  the  dispensations  of  his 
Providence,  that  one  evil  may  counteract  another,  or  to  hold 
up  before  us  the  certainty  that  we  and  every  interest  near 
our  heart  are  at  his  disposal,  to  bring  us  quietly  to  acquiesce 
in  his  will,  and  in  that  submission  there  is  peace.  George 
Rutherford,  as  he  rode  towards  his  home,  amid  the  solitude 
of  midnight,  pondering  over  his  ruined  fortunes,  felt  that  he 
was  suffering  the  severest  stroke  which  could  have  come  upon 
him  ;  but  when  he  came  in  sight  of  the  spot  where  that  home 
had  been,  when  he  looked  upon  the  terrible  flames  and  felt 
the  dread  uncertainty  which  hung  over  the  fate  of  those 


236  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

dear  ones  of  his  heart,  he  then  felt  that  God,  his  Sovereign 
aiid  his  Father,  had  at  his  command  profounder  depths  of 
sorrow  in  which  his  soul  might  agonize.  The  loss  of  fortune 
was  but  a  mere  sip  of  the  bitter  cup,  a  mere  mist  from  the 
dark  and  waste  wilderness  of  mortal  suffering;  and  when 
he  folded  his  dear  wife  and  children  in  his  arms,  he  felt,  as 
he  said,  "  Let  poverty  come,  we  will  not  fear  it." 

But  he  had  yet  to  learn  the  full  meaning  which  that 
word  conveys.  Little  could  he  tell,  born  as  he  had  been  to 
affluence,  the  anguish  which  would  at  times  wring  his  spirit ; 
his  resources  drained,  his  home  destroyed,  the  little  com 
forts  to  which  his  family  had  been  accustomed,  the  gratifica 
tion  of  their  finer  tastes,  the  elegancies  of  life,  all  cut  off; 
it  was  well  for  him  that  he- could  not  know  at  once  the  full 
extent  of  that  change  which  had  passed  upon  his  fortunes. 

One  bitter  ingredient  in  his  cup  was,  that  he  could  now 
plainly  see  that  he  had  been  remiss  in  that  watchfulness  and 
care,  which  were  demanded  of  him,  over  the  inheritance  that 
had  been  bequeathed  to  him.  His  kind  feelings  had  been 
indulged  without  the  exercise  of  common  prudence,  and  he 
had  permitted  a  morbid  sensibility  that  shrunk  from  a  just 
suspicion  of  those  whose  delinquencies  he  was  not  wholly  ig 
norant  of,  and  last  though  not  least  in  the  catalogue  which  he 
reckoned  up  against  himself,  was  his  gross  neglect  in  regard  to 
some  things  requiring  but  a  moment's  attention,  and  yet  involv 
ing  serious  consequences.  The  most  mortifying  and  truly  dis 
astrous  of  these  was  revealed  to  him  a  few  days  after  the  scenes 
recorded  in  the  last  chapter.  It  occurred,  too,  at  a  moment 
when  his  spirits  had  begun  to  revive  a  little  from  their  de 
pression.  It  had  been  suggested  to  him  by  one  who  knew 
that  the  time  was  not  far  off  when  his  tract  in  the  barrens 
would  be  of  immense  value.  Hitherto  it  had  been  estimated 
comparatively  as  but  little  worth.  The  timber  was  indeed 
large,  and  its  value,  when  it  reached  the  market,  considera 
ble  ;  but  the  cost  of  preparing  it  and  transporting  it  so  far  left 
but  a  trifling  return  to  the  owner.  A  new  demand  was 
about  to  be  created  in  the  successful  application  of  steam  for 
river  navigation.  As  hope  began  to  agitate  his  bosom,  he 
immediately  remembered  that  he  had,  but  lately,  been  ex 
amining  the  deed  by  which  he  held  that  property,  and  had 
noticed  that  there  was  no  certificate  upon  it  of  its  having 
been  recorded,  and  that  he  had  designed  having  it  placed 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  237 

upon  the  public  register.  This  design  he  had  not  accom 
plished,  and  if  it  was  not  there,  it  was  gone  forever,  as  he 
knew  the  flames  had  devoured  the  original,  with  all  his  other 
papers. 

Hoping  that  it  might  still  have  been  recorded  by  his 
father,  and  the  notice  of  the  fact  neglected  to  be  put  upon 
the  deed,  he  immediately  ordered  his  lawyer  to  make  the 
search.  It  was  in  vain ;  and  to  add  to  his  chagrin,  the  gen 
tleman  who  made  the  search  informed  him  that  a  deed 
which  Mr.  Cross  had  received  from  one  of  the  original  pro 
prietors,  intended,  as  was  supposed,  to  convey  a  title  to  only 
a  few  acres,  did,  by  this  discrepancy,  possess  him  of  a  vast 
tract  of  many  miles  in  extent.  Terrible  indeed  was  this 
blow  to  him ;  his  last  hope  of  retrieving  his  condition  van 
ished.  He  must  now  look  abroad  upon  the  wide  world  for 
some  honest  means  of  supporting  his  family.  How  he  envied 
the  laboring  man,  who,  accustomed  to  toil  from  his  boyhood, 
went  forth  to  his  daily  occupation  with  a  lively  spirit.  How 
gladly  would  he  have  taken  his-  place,  no  matter  how  severe 
the  work ;  but  his  muscular  power  was  not  equal  to  it. 
Trained  to  no  regular  business,  stript  of  all  external  depend 
ence,  he  saw  before  him  but  a  dark  and  misty  wilderness, 
through  which  he  must  grope  his  way  as  he  best  could. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  influence  which  Henry  Tracy  was  enabled  to  exert, 
can  only  be  fully  known  when  all  results  and  causes  shall  be 
developed  in  the  clearer,  brighter  light  of  eternity ;  but  a 
vast  amount  of  good  was  manifest,  even  to  those  whose  moral 
vision  was  not  the  clearest.  Many  a  young  mind  was  stim 
ulated  to  exert  its  dormant  energies,  and  feeling  its  strength, 
rushed  on  to  distinction.  His  polished  manners  were  a 
beautiful  accompaniment  to  his  cultivated  mind,  and  gave  a 
decided  tone  to  those  of  the  young  who  had  any  taste  for 
what  was  refined  and  elegant.  Nor  was  the  renovation  he 
was  accomplishing  altogether  hidden  from  himself;  a  great 
change  was  working — he  saw  it ;  it  did  not  fill  his  heart 


238  JAMES    MONT  JOY  ;     OR, 

with  pride — it  only  stimulated  him  to  further  progress,  and 
warmed  his  gratitude  to  God.  One  thing  was  certain:  he 
had  entwined  himself  around  the  hearts  of  all,  and  his  own 
affections  were  more  truly  interested  than  they  had  ever 
been  before,  beyond  his  parents'  roof.  It  seemed  to  be  the 
place  where  God  would  have  him  be — "  The  very  niche  he 
was  designed  to  fill."  It  was  also  the  means  of  deciding  him 
as  to  the  calling  he  should  pursue  for  life.  To  be  suitably 
fitted  to  take  the  spiritual  charge  of  a  people,  no  matter  how 
secluded  or  unpolished  they  might  be,  was  now  his  highest 
aim ;  and  after  a  suitable  time  he  made  known  to  the  principal 
men  that  this  was  his  intention,  and  that  he  must  leave  them 
and  go  where  he  could  obtain  the  necessary  instruction.  Lit 
tle  did  he  realize  the  hold  he  had  of  their  affections,  until  this 
determination  was  expressed.  Nothing  would  satisfy  their 
yearning  towards  him,  but  his  promise,  that,  when  through 
his  course  of  study,  he  would  come  and  be  their  minister. 

"  We  will  build  you  a  church  just  on  the  spot  which  you 
have  selected,  and  we  will  put  you  up  a  house,  that  you  shall 
call  your  home  as  long  as  you  live  j  only  promise  that  you 
will  come  and  spend  your  days  with  us." 

How  could  he  say  nay  ?  Three  years  in  all  has  he  been 
separated  from  them,  and  now  for  more  than  a  year  he  has 
been  settled  over  them  as  their  pastor.  They  have  erected 
a  church,  and  it  stands,  as  we  have  seen,  on  a  beautiful  knoll 
that  commands  a  lovely  view  of  the  surrounding  waters  ;  and 
they  have  built  the  parsonage,  and  it  is  near  the  church,  em 
bracing  the  same  enchanting  water  view,  although  somewhat 
obstructed  by  its  embowering  trees  and  shrubbery.  It  is, 
however,  unoccupied,  for  Henry  is  yet  a  single  man,  and 
whether  his  affections  are  engaged  it  matters  not.  He  has 
made  no  declaration  of  them,  and  retains  his  old  situation 
with  the  Widow  Andrews. 

A  favorite  resort  of  his  has  been  the  cottage  of  Mary 
Brown.  He  loves  to  ramble  amidst  the  seclusion  of  the 
thick  forest,  to  call  in  at  the  poor  cottages,  give  a  word  of 
comfort  or  instruction,  and  then  rest  himself  at  the  table  of 
the  widow,  and  listen  to  her  ready  converse  about  the  things 
of  a  better  world.  Sometimes,  too,  he  seems  not  at  all  un 
willing  to  listen  while  the  widow  talks  of  one  she  loves  most 
dearly.  Henry  had  met  with  Hettie  Brown  occasionally  at 
Mr.  Rutherford's.  He  had  been  struck  with  her  appear- 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  239 


ance,  and  we  need  not  be  surprised  at  this,  for  she  is  some 
years  older  now  than  when  we  last  saw  her.  The  pretty  girl 
with  sun-burnt  face,  and  curly  raven  locks,  and  dark  hazel 
eyes,  is  now  a  beautiful  young  woman,  graceful  in  all  her 
movements,  and  has  made  the  most  of  her  advantages  of 
cultivated  society.  Nor  was  it  her  appearance  alone  that 
surprised  him.  Hettie  had  studied  nature  rather  than  books, 
but  she  had  gathered  quite  a  little  store ;  and  the  ease  with 
which  she  conversed,  and  the  variety  that  her  mind  brought 
forth,  together  with  the  deep  interest  she  manifested  as  he 
poured  out  from  his  own  more  enlarged  mind  the  treasures 
of  knowledge,  convinced  him  that  she  had  a  desire  for  im 
provement,  and  an  appetite  for  acquiring  information,  that 
would  make  her  a  pleasing  scholar. 

How  much  he  thought  of  Hettie,  must  be  left  for  him  to 
divulge  in  due  season.  At  present,  he  is  very  willing  to 
have  her  brought  up  as  a  subject  of  conversation ;  and 
although  very  silent  while  her  mother,  in  all  her  simpli 
city,  is  setting  forth  her  various  qualities,  yet  he  is  careful 
to  do  nothing  that  might  by  possibility  change  the  tenor  of 
her  discourse. 

What  thoughts  Hettie  has  towards  him,  time  only  can 
develope.  That  she  loved  him,  with  all  the  strength  of  her 
woman's  heart,  would  not  be  surprising.  But  Hettie  had 
her  own  share  of  pride,  and  however  much  she  might  re 
spect  his  virtues,  or  however  much  she  might  admire  his 
person  or  his  talents,  or  even  love  him  as  the  one  of  all 
others  her  heart  could  yield  obeisance  to,  never  would  the 
secret  win  its  way  from  that  hiding-place  within,  until  he 
should  cast  himself  at  her  feet  and  ask  her  love. 

But  these  matters  of  heart  affections  are  difficult  things 
to  get  along  with.  It  would  save  a  vast  deal  of  labor  if  we 
could  pass  them  over  in  the  delineation  of  human  events ; 
but  as  that  is  impossible,  the  only  way  we  can  do  is  to  give 
the  best  solution  in  our  power,  judging  according  to  appear 
ances,  and  leaving  the  development  to  time  and  circum 
stances.  The  truth  generally  comes  out  at  last. 

A  warm  yet  lovely  afternoon  had  tempted  Henry  to  seek 
the  refreshing  shade  among  the  pines ;  and  not  caring  to 
extend  his  walk,  he  directed  his  steps  at  once  to  the  widow's 
cottage. 

At  that  period  of  the  day,  he  generally  expected  to  see 


240  JAMES  MoimoY  ;   OR, 

- 

her  sitting  a  little  back  from  the  house,  beneath  the  shade 
of  a  large  white  pine,  whose  thick  and  spreading  branches 
afforded  a  cool  and  pleasant  shelter  from  the  rays  of  the 
summer  sun.  Missing  her  in  her  usual  seat,  he  entered  the 
cottage ;  the  moment  he  stood  upon  the  threshold,  he  raised 
his  hands  and  remained  perfectly  stationary,  looking  in  si 
lent  astonishment  at  the  scene  before  him. 

His  eye  met  that  of  the  widow  ;  it  was  mild  and  calm  as 
ever,  but  no  smile  returned  his  greeting,  and  she  turned  away 
immediately  towards  the  object  that  then  engrossed  her  heart, 
and  perhaps  intending  thereby  to  direct  his  notice  thither 
also. 

It  was  enough,  indeed,  to  have  chained  a  mother's  atten 
tion  ;  for  on  the  bed  by  which  she  was  sitting,  lay  her  only 
son,  for  whose  sake  she  lived  thus  alone,  senseless,  but  still 
alive ;  his  pallid  countenance  and  sunken  eye  and  cheek,  his 
short,  faint  breathing,  all  plainly  indicated  that  life  was  held 
but  by  a  slender  thread, — so  slender,  that  a  trifle  might  sun 
der  it  for  ever.  Close  by  the  head  of  the  sufferer  stood  his 
sister,  gently  waving  a  large  fan,  and  thereby  relieving  in 
some  measure  the  closeness  of  the  atmosphere,  which,  to  one 
so  weak  as  he  appeared,  must  have  been  oppressive  in  the  ex 
treme.  Neither  mother  nor  daughter  attempted  to  offer  any 
explanation  of  the  circumstances  ;  and  Henry  had  too  much 
delicacy,  and  was  too  sincerely  affected  by  what  he  saw,  to 
intrude  any  questions,  or  interrupt  the  perfect  silence  of  the 
sick  chamber. 

Gently  rising  from  her  seat,  the  widow  touched  the  arm 
of  her  Hettie,  who  resigned  the  place  and  the  fan,  and  turn 
ing  her  sad  yet  beautiful  eyes  towards  the  young  minister, 
and  stepping  lightly  to  the  door,  signifie'd  that  she  wished 
him  to  follow. 

He  offered  his  arm,  and  in  silence  she  led  him  to  a  shade 
sufficiently  removed,  so  that  the  sound  of  their  voices  could 
not  reach  the  cottage  ;  resigning  her  arm,  he  motioned  her 
to  a  seat. 

'•  Thank  you  ;  I  cannot  sit,  but  must  return  immediately. 
You  have  heard  of  my  brother's  illness?"  looking  full  at 
Henry. 

"  Not  a  word.  But  tell  me,  my  dear  Miss  Brown,  what 
could  have  brought  him  so  low  in  so  short  a  period.  When 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  241 

I  was  here  a  few  days  since,  your  mother  said  nothing  of  his 
being  sick." 

"  He  was  brought  home  two  days  ago  in  the  condition 
you  now  see  him." 

Hettie  was  much  affected,  and  it  was  some  time. before 
she  could  command  her  feelings,  so  as  to  give  a  clear  recital 
of  all  she  knew :  "  That  he  was  found  lying  by  the  road — 
that  he  was  at  first  supposed  to  be  dead — that  a  litter  was 
made,  and  upon  it  he  was  brought  home — that  the  ground 
where  he  lay  was  covered  with  blood,  and  other  marks  of  a 
violent  scuffle — that  he  had  not  spoken  a  word,  nor  could 
any  one  give  the  least  explanation  of  the  matter." 

Henry  seized  her  hand — 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  Would  you  command  me  as 
you  would  a  brother?  Let  me  do  something  to  assure  you 
of  my  deep  sympathy  with  you  in  this  trouble." 

"  I  thank  you  most  truly,  and  will  take  advantage  of 
your  kind  offer,  although  I  see  not  how  you  can  help  us." 

As  Hettie  seemed  desirous  of  returning,  he  placed  the 
hand  which  he  held  within  his  arm ;  and  as  he  looked  at  the 
warm-hearted  girl,  her  raven  hair  thrown  carelessly  back, 
her  temples  throbbing  with  excitement,  her  eye  sparkling 
through  the  overflowing  tear,  and  her  whole  countenance 
illuminated  with  the  glow  of  sisterly  affection,  he  knew 
that  he  had  never  before  seen  any  thing  to  him  so  lovely. 

Henry  entered  the  cottage,  and  applied  himself  at  once 
to  the  task  of  an  assistant  around  the  sick  bed.  Little,  how 
ever,  could  be  done  besides  keeping  the  sufferer  as  quiet  as 
possible,  and  administering  some  slight  nourishment :  and 
thus  he  lay  from  week  to  week,  living,  breathing,  barely  able 
to  make  himself  understood  by  sign  or  word,  and  nothing 
more.  But  Henry  was  not  the  only  male  friend  who  clung 
to  them  in  this  their  hour  of  need.  David  Cross  had  been 
almost  a  constant  attendant  from  the  moment  William  had 
been  brought  home ;  David  had  ever  been  a  visitor  at  the 
cottage  ;  he  had  been  invariably  kind  to  the  widow,  watching 
over  her  in  her  loneliness,  seeing  to  her  little  wants,  calling 
and  sitting  many  long  hours,  and  apparently  not  unwilling 
to  listen  to  her  instructions,  and  ready  to  do  any  act  of  kind 
ness,  insomuch  that  she  felt  for  him  almost  the  affection  of  a 
mother.  She  pitied  him,  too,  in  his  peculiar  situation  ;  he 
had  no  mother,  or  none  that  he  had  ever  known  as  such ;  it 
11 


242  JAMES   MONTJOY  J     OR, 


was  said  that  she  had  died  many  years  ago ;  he  had  no  bro 
ther,  sister,  or  other  relative,  beside  his  father ;  from  him 
he  had  never  received  many  tokens  of  affection.  He  would 
no  doubt  have  been  proud  to  see  him  rise  in  the  world ;  and, 
as  we  have  seen,  was  very  willing  to  accomplish  this  end  at 
the  expense  of  others ;  but  he  was  morose  in  his  disposition, 
often  unkind  to  the  young  man,  supplying  him  indeed  with 
money,  but  as  often  lavishing  his  curses  upon  him  as  any 
thing  else. 

Dave  was  naturally  of  a  kind  nature,  but  had  been  bred 
among  those  who  were  rough  and  rude  ;  his  manners  of  course 
were  more  or  less  tinctured  by  his  education  ;  his  associates 
were  such  as  would  be  likely  to  lead  him  into  wild  adventures 
and  corrupt  practices.  The  only  counteracting  influence  had 
been  that  which  the  widow  exerted  over  him,  and  his  con 
duct  towards  her  evinced  a  kindness  of  feeling  and  a  sensi 
bility  to  better  things,  which  those  who  saw  him  among  his 
wild  companions  would  never  have  imagined.  The  heart  of 
the  widow  yearned  over  him,  and  she  never  lost  the  hope 
that  David  Cross  would  one  day  rise  above  his  present  ways. 

And  besides  all  this,  there  was  in  his  heart  a  strong 
and  long-enduring  attachment  for  Hettie  ;  he  had  been  fond 
of  her  when  but  a  girl.  She  had  now  reached  the  opening 
era  of  woman's  loveliness,  and  his  interest  for  her  had  be 
come  an  absorbing  feeling  of  his  heart.  During  her  long 
stay  at  Mr.  Rutherford's,  he  had  never  lost  sight  of  her ;  but 
having  either  business  to  attend  to  for  his  father  in  that  re 
gion,  or  feigning  it  for  his  own  ends,  he  would  frequently 
take  small  parcels  or  trifling  errands  from  the  mother  to  the 
daughter,  and  many  a  precious  bundle  of  good  things  had  he 
brought  from  Hettie,  through  the  kindness  of  Mrs.  Ruther 
ford,  to  comfort  and  cheer  the  widow.  He  was,  therefore,  by 
no  means  an  unwelcome  visitor  at  either  house  ;  his  personal 
appearance  was  not  unpleasant — a  manly,  open  countenance, 
with  something  of  the  dare  devil  in  it — a  kind  manner, 
mingled  indeed  with  some  roughness,  and  a  fearless,  straight 
forward,  animated  way,  calculated  to  make  a  favorable  im 
pression.  Hettie  seemed  always  glad  to  see  him,  so  much 
so,  that  many  of  the  family  firmly  believed  that  she  had  other 
feelings  towards  him  than  mere  neighborly  kindness.  Mrs. 
Rutherford  knew  her  heart  in  this  matter,  and  attached  no 
such  suspicion  to  her  attentions. 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  243 


Hettie  indeed  did  not  love  him.  nor  did  she  feel  that  she 
ever  could ;  and  was  careful  to  do  nothing  that  might  give " 
him  occasion  to  indulge  a  false  hope  in  regard  to  her.  David 
had,  as  I  have  said,  sympathized  with  William  on  his  sick 
bed  ; — he  it  was,  who  had  brought  Hettie  to  her  maternal 
tome,  and  day  and  night,  with  Henry  Tracy,  had  been  un 
tiring  in  doing  every  thing  for  their  relief. 

William's  consciousness  returned  to  him  long  before  he  had 
any  ability  to  hold  conversation,  and  the  dilemma  in  which 
he  found  himself  involved,  occupied  almost  constantly  his 
waking  thoughts.  The  desperate  character  of  Cross ;  the 
vile  plot  that  had  been  executed  against  the  unsuspecting  and 
noble  minded  Rutherfords  ;  the  fate  of  the  trunk,  for  which 
he  had  fought  so  bravely,  the  least  whisper  of  which  had  not 
yet  reached  his  ear :  all  these  subjects  distracted  his  weak 
and  nickering  senses ; — a  terrible  secret  lay  in  his  breast, 
which  he  had  not  the  power  to  reveal  in  a  way  that  would 
be  intelligible,  and  when  revealed,  must  crush  to,  ruin  the 
hopes  of  the  friend  who  was  watching  at  his  side,  by  bring 
ing  the  father  to  an  ignominious  end.  At  times,  in  the 
agony  of  his  contending  thoughts,  he  would  groan  aloud,  and 
the  large  drops  would  gather  on  his  pale  forehead.  Hettie 
or  the  mother  would  bend  over  him.  and  say  some  soothing 
word,  and  wipe  his  clammy  face,  and  inquire  "  why  he  groan 
ed?  or  where  the  pain?  or  what  they  could  do  for  him?" 
but  he  would  shake  his  head,  and  closing  his  eyes,  give  up 
awhile  his  troubled  thoughts  and  fall  asleep.  Thus  day  after 
day,  and  week  after  week  stole  on,  and  still  he  lay  in  his 
feebleness,  gaining,  if  at  all,  by  a  very  slow  and  almost  imper 
ceptible  progress. 

It  was  at  the  close  of  a  lowery  day ;  the  shadows  of  night 
were  deepened  by  a  dark  canopy  of  clouds  which  hung  over 
the  barrens.  The  Widow  Brown  had  lighted  her  lamp  and 
placed  it  on  the  stand  by  the  bed  of  her  son.  designing  to 
sit  as  close  to  him  as  she  could,  while  plying  her  busy  needle. 
David  Cross  was  reclining  on  a  low  cot-bed ;  he  had  taken 
Hettie  to  Mr.  Rutherford's  that  day,  and  expecting  to  watch 
part  of  the  night,  was  anticipating  a  few  hours'  sleep.  A 
gentle  tap  was  heard,  and  as  the  widow  opened  the  door,  a 
female,  clad  in  somewhat  better  garments  than  was  usual 
among  the  people  of  that  region,  stood  panting  for  breath, 


£46  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR. 

who  repent  of  sin  and  turn  to  G-od  through  Jesus  Christ. 
He  came  into  the  world  for  that  very  purpose.  He  hung 
upon  the  cross  for  us  poor  sinners :  and  while  he  hung 
there,  he  pardoned  a  thief  that  was  hanging  beside  him,  and 
about  to  die.  He  says  "  Whosoever  corneth  to  me,  I  will 
in  nowise  cast  out." 

"  You  don't  think  He  will  save  such  a  worthless  sinner 
as  I  am  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  Edward ;  if  you  throw  yourself  upon  His 
mercy,  and  ask  Him  to  forgive." 

The  dying  man  turned  his  eyes  away  from  the  widow, 
raised  them  towards  heaven,  and  clasped  his  trembling 
hands  together. 

"  God  have  mercy  upon  me,  a  poor  sinner — a  dreadful 
sinner !  for  Christ's  sake — for  Christ's  sake,  only  for  Christ's 
sake  !" 

And  the  widow  wiped  away  the  big  drops  that  stood 
upon  his  clay-cold  forehead.  Again  he  fixed  his  eye  upon 
her — 

"  But,  oh  !  there's  a  dreadful  load  upon  my  heart — there 
are — some  things — I  have  done — that  must  be  told — I  can 
not  keep  them.  Come,  lean  your  head  down  close  to  me." 

The  widow  was  by  too  means  anxious  to  hear  his  tale  of 
sins  and  misdoings,  but  she  obeyed  his  request.  He  was 
greatly  excited ;  his  breath  flew  back  and  forth  like  a  wea 
ver's  shuttle,  and  he  could  only  get  the  words  out  by 
catches. 

.  "  You  know — Rutherford's  house — has  been  burnt — and 
I  don't  know — but  some  of  them  were  burnt  in  it.  Cross — • 
hired  me  and  two  others.  We  wanted  to  get  a  trunk — a 
tin  trunk — I  fired  the  house.  They  got  the  trunk — and  I 
brought  it  along.  Your  son  Bill  met  me  on  the  road  and 
struck  me  from  the  horse — and  tried  to  get  the  trunk.  We 
grappled — and  I  thought  I'd  killed  him — but  I  don't  know 
nothing  since  then, — that's  all — oh  dear  !  Why  did  I  go  ? 
Cross,  Cross,  Cross — did  it  all ; — but,  oh  Grod  ! — here  it 
comes" — 

He  ceased  speaking — his  lips  trembled,  his  eyes  rolled 
back  convulsively — he  clutched  at  the  clothing,  a  spasm 
shook  his  frame — it  was  death's  last  stroke  ;  and  as  the 
quivering  limbs  settled  into  rest,  breath  and  pulse  were  still. 

The  widow  saw  that  he  was  dead;    and  clasping  her 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  247 


hands  in  silent  horror,  she  looked  at  poor  Margaret  for  an 
explanation.  Margaret  shook  her  head. 

"  Don't  speak  ;  I  believe  it  is  all  true,  but  you  must  not 
stay  here  a  minute  longer.  The  poor  fellow  is  dead,  you  can 
do  him  no  good ;  and  Cross  may  be  the  death  of  me,  if  he 
finds  you  have  been  here — hark  !" 

The  noise  of  approaching  footsteps  was  distinctly  heard ; 
but  before  they  could  make  the  least  effort  at  concealment, 
the  door  opened,  and  Cross  entered. 

The  widow  spoke  to  him  in  her  mild,  pleasant  way.  He 
manifested  great  confusion,  tried  to  speak  calmly,  but  his 
voice  choked  and  trembled  greatly.  He  cast  his  eye  quickly 
on  the  bed — 

«  What !  dead  ?     Ned  is  not  dead  <"' 

"  Yes,"  said  the  widow  ;  "  he  has  just  breathed  his  last. 
Can  I  be  of  any  service  to  you,  Margaret,  by  staying  here  ? 
If  I  can"— 

"  Oh  no,"  replied  Cross,  quickly ;  "  there  is  no  use,  we 
won't  trouble  Mrs.  Brown." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  be  going,  as  it  is  getting  late  in  the 
evening."  So  wishing  them  good-night,  she  quietly  stepped 
from  the  door,  walked  slowly  a  few  paces,  and  then  hurried 
along  with  as  much  speed  as  the  darkness  would  permit. 

No  sooner  did  Cross  perceive  that  the  widow  was  gone, 
than  his  countenance  assumed  an  aspect  of  the  fiercest  rage. 

"  How  is  this  ?"  clenching  his  fist,  and  shaking  it  near  to 
the  head  of  the  trembling,  wretched  female — "  how  is  this  ? 
How  came  that  old  canting  hypocrite  here?" 

"  Ned  begged  me  to  go  for  her :  he  said  he  could  not  die 
in  peace  until  he  saw  her." 

"  Die  in  peace !"  and  he  stamped  his  foot  with  rage — • 
"  die  in  peace  !  and  did  not  I  charge  you,  by  your  life,  to  let 
no  human  being  see  him  in  his  reason,  but  myself?"  And 
saying  this,  he  caught  her  by  the  hair  and  dashed  her  with 
his  utmost  power  to  the  floor.  She  arose,  without  uttering 
a  word  or  groan,  upon  her  knees ;  she  caught  him  by  the 
arm ;  he  endeavored  to  thrust  her  from  him,  but  her  hold 
was  the  grasp  of  despair  ; — at  once  he  drew  a  poniard,  that 
he  always  carried  in  a  concealed  case  at  his  side ;  she  saw 
it  glitter  as  he  held  it  up  in  the  act  of  plunging  it  to  her 
heart. 

"  Oh  mercy,  mercy  !  for  God's  sake — for  the  sake  of  him 


248  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

who  calls  you  father,  don't  kill  me  !  Remember  all  I  have 
suffered  for  you — the  mother  of  your  only  child,  though  you 
have  never  owned  me.  Have  not  I  always  done  your  bid 
ding  ?  lost  my  soul  and  body  for  you  ?" 

Pity,  or  some  other  motive,  unnerved  his  arm — he  could 
not  just  then  do  the  deed  ;  but  hurling  her  from  him.  threw 
her  to  the  other  side  of  the  cabin,  like  a  reptile  that  he 
hated. 

In  an  instant  she  was  on  her  feet — a  rifle  was  in  her 
hand,  and  it  was  pointed  in  deadly  aim  at  her  vile  oppressor. 
The  gun  Gross  had  not  noticed — it  always  stood  loaded  j 
for  Margaret  (or  Meg  as  she  was  called)  lived  alone,  and  in 
that  wild  place  had  learned  how  to  use  it.  He  had  no  idea 
that  the  poor  worm  he  bad  so  long  trodden  upon  could 
ever  turn  against  him  ;  but  when  he  beheld  her  eyes  glaring 
with  fury,  and  the  deadly  weapon  levelled  at  his  breast,  his 
blood  curdled  at  his  heart.  He  made  a  step  towards  her. 

"  One  step  more,  and  you  are  dead !" 

"  Put  that  down,  Meg  ;  I  don't  want  to  hurt  you."  The 
poor  craven  now  began  to  cower,  and  thought  that  a  few 
soft  words  would  obliterate  a  life  of  abuse,  carried  to  a  point 
where  woman's  love  turns  to  the  direst  hate. 

"  No,  never  !  Stir  but  one  foot — move  but  a  single  limb 
— and  you  will  lay  beside  that  wretched  victim  of  your  arts. 
Hear  me  now,  David  Cross ;  I  am  no  longer  your  slave. 
You  have  ruined  my  name  ;  you  have  defrauded  me  of  the 
title  of  wife ;  you  have  made  me  to  disown  my  child ;  you 
have  kept  me  in  poverty  and  made  me  a  companion  of  out 
casts  ;  and  now  you  have  thrust  me  from  you.  like  a  hideous 
reptile  : — but  your  hour  has  come ;  that  miserable  being, 
whom  you  sent  here  a  raving  maniac,  has  let  out  your  secret 
— it  is  already  on  the  wings  of  the  wind." 

Cross  trembled  in  every  joint ;  a  fiend,  with  demoniac 
power,  seemed  glaring  at  him  in  the  being  whom  but  a 
moment  before  he  had  so  shamefully  abused. 

"  Meg,  forgive  me.  I  have  wronged  you  ;  I  know  I  have. 
Don't  take  my  life,  and  I  will  make  it  all  right.  I  will  say 
you  are  my  wife  ;  I  will  do  any  thing  you  want." 

"  Forgive  you  ?  Yes,  I  will  forgive  you,  when  you  bring 
back  my  poor  parents  who  went  down  to  the  grave  mourn 
ing  for  her  you  ruined  ;  when  you  can  tear  from  my  mind  the 
memory  of  wrongs,  none  but  a  woman's  heart  could  ever  have 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  249 

borne  so  long.  Forgive  you?  no,  never.  Your  life  you 
may  have ;  but  go — before  the  dreadful  feelings  which  have 
been  burning  in  my  heart  blaze  up  again.  Go  !  go  quick" — 

He  waited  not,  but  moved  to  the  door,  stepped  trembling 
from  the  threshold,  and  hurried  away  through  the  dark 
forest. 

The  moment  Cross  had  gone,  Margaret  opened  a  small 
trunk,  hastily  gathered  together  a  few  articles  of  dress,  and 
slipping  a  little  roll  of  paper  containing  her  stock  of  money 
into  her  pocket,  tied  up  her  clothing  in  a  bundle,  cast  one 
look  upon  the  dead  body,  and  then  quitted  the  wretched  ten 
ement  she  had  so  long  called  her  home,  firmly  resolved  never 
to  enter  it  again. 

She  hastened  at  once  towards  the  cottage  of  the  Widow 
Brown ;  and  so  rapidly  did  she  thread  her  way  through  the 
intricate  path,  that  before  the  widow  had  passed  over  half 
the  distance  to  her  home,  Margaret  had  overtaken  her. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  Mrs.  Brown  ;  I  did  not  think  to 
reach  you  so  soon — but  stop  and  listen  to  me." 

The  widow  had  indeed  stopped,  for  Margaret  came  upon 
her  so  unexpectedly,  that  she  was  much  alarmed,  and  de 
prived  of  the  ability,  even  if  she  had  the  will,  to  escape. 

"  I  will  listen  to  you,  Margaret,  but  I  have  heard  dread 
ful  things  enough  to-night.  I  am  almost  distracted  now." 

"  I  would  not  add  a  straw  to  your  burdens,  my  dear 
good  Mrs.  Brown,  but  I  am  a  poor  distressed  creature.  The 
whole  of  my  life  for  these  many  years  has  been  one  scene  of 
misery  ;  but  I  can  bear  it  no  longer,  and  this  very  night  will 
find  me  many  miles  from  here." 

"  Oh  do,  don't  talk  so,  Margaret.  Come,  go  with  me,  and 
rest  you  for  the  night  at  least ;  it  is  so  dark,  and  beginning 
to  storm  already." 

"  This  darkness  and  the  rain  are  no  troubles  to  me ;  but 
just  listen  one  moment.  You  know  that  I  have  told  you 
what  I  have  no  other  human  being.  One  secret  more  I  must 
commit  to  you — that  young  man  who  is  now  at  your  house, 
is  my  son." 

"  David  Cross  your  son,  Margaret  ?" 

"  It  is  G-od's  truth,  and  all  I  want  of  you  is,  whenever 
you  think  it  best,  to  let  him  know  what  I  have  told  to  you.  I 
am  now  on  my  way  to  the  city.  I  shall  seek  a  place  of  ser 
vice,  and  when  I  find  a  resting-place,  if  there  is  any  such 
11* 


250  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

spot  for  me  on  earth,  I  shall  let  you  know.  But  one  thing, 
I  must  beg  of  you — Cross  has  treated  me  like  a  brute,  and  I 
came  very  near  taking  his  life  to-night;  but  for  David's  sake, 
spare  him — don't  reveal  the  terrible  tale  you  heard  to-night. 
Promise  me,  now,  won't  you  " — and  Margaret  fell  upon  her 
knees  and  clasped  the  arm  of  the  widow — "  promise  me, 
you  will  not  reveal  it  without  in  some  way  you  are  obliged 
to  doit?" 

"  Why,  Margaret,  my  mind  is  so  disturbed  by  all  these 
scenes,  that  I  cannot  think  of  things  as  I  should  like  to,  be 
fore  making  any  promise ;  but  you  know  I  love  David,  and 
would  be  as  careful  of  injuring  him,  as  my  own  child." 

"That  is  enough;  but  oh,  do  just  put  your  hand  upon 
my  head,  and  say  one  prayer  over.  me.  I  shall  go  lighter  on 
my  way,  for  I  have  but  a  heavy  heart,  and  a  weary  road  lies 
before  me." 

"  May  Grod  bless  you,  my  child,  and  make  a  way  for  you 
to  some  place,  where  you  will  be  in  peace ;  and  may  you  yet 
have  some  comfort  before  you  die." 

"  Amen,"  said  Margaret ;  and  seizing  the  hand  of  the 
widow,  which  had  rested  on  her  shoulder,  she  kissed  it  again 
and  again,  and  then  departed. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

MR.  CROSS  was  in  no  enviable  state  of  mind,  as  he  hast 
ened  along  in  the  darkness,  after  leaving  the  hut  of  Marga 
ret.  The  disappointment  he  had  suffered  in  finding  that 
Ned  Saunders  was  beyond  his  questioning,  the  terrible  fright 
he  had  endured  while  standing  with  the  rifle  at  his  breast, 
the  mortification  of  begging  his  life  at  the  hand  of  one  he 
had  so  long  triumphed  over,  and  above  all,  the  knowledge 
that  his  secret  was  abroad,  all  operated  with  maddening 
power,  and  worked  up  a  tempest  within,  that  raged  and 
tossed  until  he  was  bewildered  by  its  fury.  He  passed  his 
own  dwelling  without  stopping,  but  hurried  on,  directing  his 
steps  to  the  north,  through  a  by-path  amidst  the  towering 
pines. 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  251 


After  some  miles  of  rapid  walking,  he  reached  the  edge 
of  the  barrens,  or  rather  that  part  of  them  that  had  been 
cleared  and  in  some  measure  cultivated.  He  here  descried 
the  twinkle  of  lights  from  a  small  settlement.  To  one  of 
these,  a  little  separated  from  the  rest,  he  soon  came,  and 
knocked  with  some  violence  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in." 

Cross  tried  the  latch,  but  finding  it  fastened,  repeated 
the  knocks  in  a  way  that  showed  he  was  in  earnest  to  be 
let  in. 

"  Come  in,  I  say — but  stop,  may  be  the  door  is  fastened. 
Who  are  you  ?" 

"  Open  the  door,  will  you  ?  it's  me." 

"  Aha — that  I  will ;"  and  the  bolt  was  withdrawn  quickly. 

"  Why,  neighbor,  is  this  you  ?  how  are  you  ?  come  in. 
Bless  my  soul,  you  are  the  last  man  I  should  have  thought 
of  seeing  here  this  dark  night — take  a  chair,  neighbor — 
what's  the  news  ?"  And  as  Squire  Foster  (for  he  was  the 
gentleman  whom  Mr.  Cross  had  honored  with  a  visit)  said 
this,  he  threw  away  the  smile,  or  rather  grin,  that  had  played 
over  his  sallow  and  flabby  face,  and  assumed  his  naturally 
sly  and  mouserly  look.  "  Any  thing  good  abroad  ?" 

Cross  was  in  no  talking  humor ;  so  he  let  the  gentle 
man  run  on,  and  in  the  mean  time,  helping  himself  to  a  chair, 
sat  down,  and  leaning  back  against  the  wall,  fixed  his  eye, 
dark  and  lowery,  full  upon  the  little  light  that  stood  flaring 
and  smoking  on  the  middle  of  the  table. 

"  Well,  there's  the  devil  to  pay  now  !" 

"  Where  1  what,  what,  neighbor — any  news  ?" 

"  None  that  you  will  want  to  hear.  Ned  Saunders  is 
dead." 

"  One  rogue  less,  then,  neighbor,  ha,  ha  !  he  won't  tell 
any  tales  then  about  here." 

"  But  suppose  he  has  told  the  tale  already  ?" 

"  That  would  be  bad,  neighbor  ;  but  you  don't  mean  to 
say  that  he  has  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  do  mean  to  say  so,  and  the  question  is,  what  you 
mean  to  do  about  it  ?" 

"  What  Jmean  to  do  about  it?" — and  he  looked  at  Cross 
with  a  vacant  stare. 

"  Why  you  know  we  are  both  implicated." 


252  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

"  Why,  neighbor,  that  is  all  between  you  and  me.  You 
know  I  have  been  but  a  mere  counsellor." 

"  Yes,  and  a  pretty  scrape  your  counsel  has  got  me  into. 
Here  is  one  man  dead,  the  two  others  gone  out  of  reach,  and 
the  thing  itself  nowhere  to  be  found.  Like  as  not  Ruther 
ford  has  got  it  back  again,  and  we  have  had  our  labor  for 
our  pains,  and  may  be  something  beside  not  so  agreeable." 

"  Well  now,  suppose,  neighbor,  I  should  tell  you  that 
Rutherford  has  not  got  it?" 

"  Do  you. know  that?  and  how?" 

"  What  would  you  give,  if  I  should  tell  you  that  I  have 
got  it,  safe  and  snug  in  my  own  hands  ?" 

"  Give  !  I  have  given  enough  already ;  but  where  is  it  ? 
let's  see  it." 

And  Cross  arose  from  his  leaning  posture,  sat  his  chair 
square  on  the  floor,  and  himself  very  erect  in  it,  and  looked 
fixedly  at  the  Squire. 

Foster  noticed  the  movement  and  the  look  of  Cross,  and, 
without  speaking,  arose  and  stepped  into  a  small  adjoining 
room,  took  something  from  a  case  that  stood  upon  an  old 
dressing-table,  and  thrusting  it  hastily  into  his  bosom,  came 
back  and  resumed  his  seat. 

"  Have  you  got  it  ?" 

"Got  what,  neighbor?" 

"  You  know  what,  well  enough ; — why,  the  deed.  The 
trunk  you  may  keep,  but  the  deed  can  do  you  no  good." 

"  Nor  you  either,  neighbor  ;  it  is  safe — safe  enough.  I 
have  got  it,  and  I  mean  to  keep  it."  And  as  he  said  this, 
he  very  deliberately  drew  a  pistol  from  his  breast,  and  lay 
ing  his  hand  on  the  table,  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  looked 
at  the  pretty  plaything.  Cross  eyed  him  keenly,  glancing 
from  the  pistol,  which  he  saw  was  cocked,  to  the  calm  and 
almost  unmeaning  countenance  of  Foster. 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  do  about  this  ?" 

"  1  don't  know  exactly,  neighbor  ;  but  at  present  I  shall 
keep  it.  Something  may  turn  up,  you  know — and  to  save  a 
great  deal  of  talk,  as  it  is  getting  late,  matters  must  stand 
thus  :  I  have  obtained  possession  of  this,  at  some  risk  ;  you 
agreed  to  pay  me  well,  you  know,  if  the  job  succeeded — go 
on  then — slash  away  at  the  timber ;  cut  down  and  sell  off 
as  fast  as  you  can — no  one  can  hinder  you — hand  over  half 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  253 

you  get  to  me — and  all  will  go  smoothly  enough.  Do  you 
agree  to  that  ?" 

Cross  knew  that  Foster  was  a  great  villain,  but  he  had 
never  calculated  upon  the  chance  of  thus  getting  into  his 
power ;  he  knew  now  that  he  was  resolved  upon  a  desperate 
course. 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  be  sued  as  soon  as  I  begin  to  cut." 

"  No  fear  from  that  quarter.  Rutherford  is  down,  and 
has  no  means  to  contend  with  ;  his  creditors  will  get  picking 
enough  to  satisfy  themselves  out  of  his  other  property ;  and 
no  lawyer  will  undertake  the  job,  on  his  own  risk,  without 
more  show  of  a  title  than  he  can  now  claim." 

"  Well,  if  they  do  prosecute,  you  agree  to  see  to  it  ?" 

"  Ay,  ay,  neighbor,  leave  all  that  to  me." 

"  And  suppose  there  should  be  trouble  about  what  Ned 
Saunders  has  been  blabbing1?" 

"  That  won't  amount  to  much  ;  it  will  soon  be  known  that 
you  are  the  owner  of  nearly  all  the  barrens  now,  and  they 
will  be  careful  enough  how  they  raise  their  tongue  against 
you ; — a  man  is  not  very  likely  to  swear  to  his  own  injury." 

As  Cross  arose  to  depart,  the  other  gentleman  left  his 
seat  also,  and  dropping  the  hand  which  held  the  pistol,  let  it 
dangle  by  his  side ;  the  other  hand  he  placed  in  his  bosom, 
and  facing  his  guest,  looked  at  him  very  complacently  ;  a  slight 
smile  and  a  gentle  inclination  of  the  head,  on  the  part  of 
Foster,  were  all  the  greeting  that  passed,  as  Cross  neither 
turned  his  head  nor  uttered  a  word,  but  with  a  quick  step 
left  the  house,  and  went  on  his  way.  The  wages  of  iniquity 
are  sometimes  reaped  in  this  world,  and  Cross  was  just  tast 
ing  the  bitter  fruit. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

MR.  RUTHERFORD  had  received  his  dear  wife  and  children 
as  it  were  from  the  jaws  of  death,  but  it  had  been  by  the  al 
most  superhuman  exertions  of  the  faithful  Caesar,  who,  for  a 
long  time,  was  disabled  by  the  severe  injuries  he  had  re 
ceived  as  he  bore  them  through  the  burning  building.  The 


254  JAMES   MONTJOY  }     OR, 

noble  beasts,  for  which  Csesar  had  fought  so  bravely,  with  all 
the  luxuries  and  comforts  of  his  large  establishment,  were 
swept  away  at  the  demands  of  creditors,  and  nothing  that  he 
could  call  his  own  remained,  except  the  faithful  old  negro, 
who,  although  a  slave,  was  too  far  advanced  in  life  to  be  liable 
as  property,  and  those  dear  objects  in  which  his  heart  still 
found  some  sweet  solace  amid  the  drear  prospect  which  sur 
rounded  him. 

At  present  he  was  occupying  a  small  house  which  had 
belonged  to  him  once,  and  used  as  a  tenement  for  a  laborer 
on  his  estate.  Few  were  the  articles  of  furniture  which  suf 
ficed  for  their  use,  and  those  had  been,  for  the  most  part, 
loaned  for  their  immediate  necessity.  His  lovely  wife  still 
kept  her  pleasant  smile,  but  it  was  the  sunshine  that  glanced 
from  an  iceberg ;  her  heart  was  smitten  with  a  stroke  that 
pressed  it  down,  and  must  soon  destroy  its  elasticity.  It 
was  not  the  loss  of  all,  nor  the  change  of  abode,  nor  the  rude 
and  scanty  furniture,  nor  all  the  other  aggravating  tokens  of 
their  change  of  circumstances,  but  she  saw  the  struggle  that 
was  agitating  her  husband's  mind  ;  she  could  not  relieve  him 
of  that  load  of  care  ;  she  could  not  obliterate  from  his  memory 
past  errors,  nor  could  she  mark  out  for  him  a  path  that 
offered  any  other  prospect  than  the  dark  one  in  which  they 
were  travelling  then.  All  she  could  do  was  to  make  the 
best  of  what  they  had,  to  throw  into  her  words  the  softest 
tones,  and  to  lighten  up  her  countenance  with  the  semblance 
of  hope  she  did  not  feel. 

It  was  not  long  after  they  had  thus  been  reduced  to  the 
extremity  of  fortune's  change,  wearied  with  the  turmoil  of 
his  distracted  mind,  Mr.  Rutherford  was  sitting  at  the  little 
window  that  opened  from  their  abode  upon  the  highway ; 
his  Mary  was  beside  him,  and  she  held  his  hand,  and  fondly 
pressed  it,  as  she  oft  had  done  in  better  days,  and  laid  her 
ruby  lips  upon  it,  and  then  would  put  it  to  her  heart,  and  let 
him  feel  how  true  it  beat  for  him.  The  shades  of  evening 
were  just  setting  upon  them,  held  back  a  little  by  the  young 
moon  which  hung  out  her  crescent  in  the  west,  when  a 
vehicle  stopped  at  their  door,  and  a  gentleman  of  sprightly 
mien  alighted  and  prepared  to  enter.  Mrs.  Rutherford 
went  for  a  light,  while  her  husband  repaired  to  the  door  to 
receive  the  visitor  whoever  he  might  be,  although,  as  he  sup 
posed,  some  messenger  of  evil  tidings,  like  all  of  late. 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  255 

"  Mr.  Rutherford,  I  believe  ?" 

"  My  name  is  Rutherford,  sir  ;  will  you  walk  in  ?" 

The  stranger  immediately  followed,  and  entered  their 
small  apartment.  Mrs.  Rutherford,  at  the  same  time,  plac 
ing  the  light  on  a  little  stand,  made  her  polite  obeisance  to 
him  with  that  grace  so  peculiar  to  her. 

"'  I  expect  you  have  forgotten  me,  Mr.  Rutherford  ;  my 
name  is  Andrews.  You  remember  the  poor  boy  you  helped 
some  six  years  since." 

"  Andrews — what,  William  Andrews  !" 

"  The  same,  sir.  A  few  years  make  some  change  in  our 
appearance." 

It  had,  indeed,  made  some  change,  and  one  which  entirely 
effaced  every  resemblance  to  the  plain  and  homely-dressed 
lad,  who,  six  years  since,  had  left  his  home  to  seek  his  for 
tune  among  strangers.  He  was  now  dressed  in  fashionable 
style,  with  all  the  ease  of  manner  which  is  acquired  only  by 
mingling  in  society,  and  where  the  courtesies  of  life  are  punc 
tiliously  attended  to.  He  had  grown  in  stature  also,  and  was 
now  a  tall  and  slender  man ;  his  fresh,  healthy  countenance 
was  exchanged  for  a  pale  and  yellow  hue.  He  wore  his  hair 
long,  after  the  fashion  of  the  South,  and  thrown  back  almost 
behind  his  ears ;  his  eye  alone  retained  its  naturally  soft  and 
expressive  cast,  although  its  brightness  was  dimmed,  and 
seemed  to  indicate  a  want  of  energy  in  the  physical  frame. 
His  own  mother  could  scarcely  have  found  a  likeness  to  his 
former  self;  his  very  voice  sympathized  with  the  apparent 
languor  of  his  frame,  and  had  nothing  in  it  that  would  re 
call  the  lively  tones  of  boyhood. 

"  It  cannot  be  !"  said  Mrs.  Rutherford,  who  now  ap 
proached  and  took  his  hand.  "  Not  William  Andrews  ! 
Time  has  indeed  made  a  change ; — but  we  are  glad,  heartily 
glad  to  see  you." 

"  It  is  not  time  alone,  madam,  that  has  made  a  change  in 
my  appearance,  I  suspect.  I  have  been,  you  know,  in  a 
southern  climate,  and  that  takes  severe  hold  sometimes  of 
us  northern  men ;  but  I  am  very  happy  again  to  see  you, 
very  happy  indeed." 

Without  the  least  reference  by  either  party  to  the  great 
change  which  had  occurred  in  circumstances,  some  little 
time  was  spent  in  a  general  interchange  of  question  and  an 
swer  about  persons  and  things ;  when  Mrs.  Rutherford  left 


256  JAMES    MONTJOY :     OR 


the  room,  perhaps  from  feelings  of  delicacy  to  her  husband, 
who  might  not  wish  to  refer  in  her  presence  to  his  own  pe 
culiar  situation. 

"  You  find,  Mr.  Andrews,  that  there  have  been  changes 
here  too,  which  perhaps  must  astonish  you." 

"  I  have  heard  of  them,  sir,  a  few  miles  from  here,  and 
have  urged  on  my  journey  further  than  I  should  have  done. 
I  need  not  say  to  you,  sir,  that  to  me  it  is  the  most  painful 
event  I  have  yet  met  with  in  life.  Is  it  true,  my  dear  sir  ? 
Are  you  as  much  reduced  as  report  affirms  and  appearances 
indicate  ?" 

"  I  am  as  low  down,  so  far  as  property  is  concerned,  as  I 
can  be ; — there  is  absolutely  nothing  left." 

And  then,  with  much  composure,  Mr.  Rutherford  un 
folded  the  complicated  maze  in  which  he  had  struggled  for 
Borne  time,  and  the  closing  of  the  scene  in  the  last  fatal  blow. 
Although  apparently  unmoved  himself,  not  so  was  he  who 
listened  to  the  tale  of  suffering.  The  southern  clime  had 
marred  William's  beauty,  but  it  had  only  added  to  the  warmth 
of  his  heart.  For  some  time  after  Mr.  Rutherford  had  done 
speaking,  he  sat  wrapt  in  silent  thought ;  his  emotion  too 
strong  to  dare  trust  the  utterance  of  a  single  expression. 
At  length  he  rose,  and  taking  the  hand  of  his  friend, — 

"  Mr.  Rutherford,  the  ways  of  the  Almighty  are  myste 
rious,  but  they  must  be  right.  When  a  lone  wanderer,  you 
took  me  by  the  hand,  you  gave  me  counsel,  you  assisted  me 
with  means,  you  introduced  me  to  influential  friends ;  you 
made  my  heart  glad  then,  and  gave  me  an  impetus  which  has 
led  me  on  to  success  beyond  my  expectations.  The  money 
I  have  returned  to  you.  but  the  debt  of  gratitude  for  your 
kindness  to  me  in  that  hour  will  remain  an  uncancelled  obli 
gation  while  I  live.  And  now,  sir,  you  must  take  this  trifle 
from  me — -I  demand  the  right  of  a  debtor  to  your  bounty — 
take  it  and  keep  it  for  your  present  need  ; — it  must  nofc,  it 
shall  not  be,  that  either  you  or  your  angel  wife  know  the 
pinchings  of  want." 

His  voice  trembled  so  violently,  that  he  could  scarcely 
utter  the  few  last  words,  nor  could  Mr.  Rutherford  respond 
to  this  warm  burst  of  sympathy ;  it  had  gone  directly  to  his 
heart,  and  caused  a  flow  of  feeling  that  could  find  no  vent  in 
words. 

"  I  must  leave  you  for  the  night.     G-od  willing,  I  shall 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  257 


see  you  on  the  morrow,  and  tell  you  all  my  story.  You  then 
will  see  that  I  do  not  rob  myself,  and  we  will  devise  some 
other  plan  together." 

Mr.  Rutherford  shook  his  hand  with  a  silent  grasp,  but 
it  told  the  young  man  that  his  offering  of  love  and  gratitude 
had  done  its  work.  Leaving  his  best  respects  for  Mrs. 
Rutherford,  William  departed  for  the  nearest  public  house. 

As  Mrs.  Rutherford  entered  the  room,  after  their  guest 
had  gone,  she  found  her  husband  seated  by  the  stand  and 
looking  at  something  which  he  had  spread  out  upon  the 
table. 

"  See  here,  Mary." 

She  stepped  up  to  him,  and  putting  her  arm  around  his 
neck,  stooped  over  beside  him. 

"  My  dear  husband  !  what  does  this  mean  ?  Five  hun 
dred  dollars  !"  and  she  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 

"  Yes,  my  love ;  it  is  five  hundred  dollars  given  us  by 
that  young  man,  whom  a  few  years  since  we  befriended : 
this  is  the  way,  my  dear,  that  God  gives  back  the  bread  cast 
upon  the  waters." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  George  !"  and  she  threw  herself  upon  his 
bosom,  ''  how  glad  I  am  for  you ;  you  feel  that  you  have 
one  friend  now,  don't  you?" 

"  Yes,  Mary  ;  and  you  cannot  think  how  my  heart  leaps 
at  the  thought :  one  sympathizing  friend  in  an  hour  like 
this,  is  indeed  '  cold  water  to  a  thirsty  soul ;'  but  oh  !  that 
better  Friend  above,  shall  we  ever  forget  him,  Mary  ?  How 
good  !  how  true  !  how  wise  !  how  unfailing  !  if  we  will  only 
trust  in  Him." 

They  said  no  more  :  silently  they  sank  together  on  their 
knees,  and  poured  out  the  fulness  of  their  hearts  to  that 
Friend — that  better  Friend  above. 

In  the  hour  of  our  deep  distress,  when  the  dark  clouds 
are  around  and  above  us,  the  soul  is  prone  to  feel  that  the 
darkness  which  oppresses  it  is  the  frown  of  God :  we  forget 
that  love  may  be  concealed,  not  turned  away. 

To  Mr.  Rutherford's  heart  this  mercy-drop  came ;  a  de 
lightful  assurance  that  he  was  not  forsaken,  and  that  still 
the  arm  of  sovereign  love  was  stretched  out  over  him. 

William  Andrews  had  not  been,  for  the  few  past  years, 
engaged  in  the  active  whirl  of  business  to  no  purpose :  he 
had  amassed  a  few  thousands  by  a  happy  venture,  and  his 


258  JAMES   MONTJOY  J     OR, 

success  had  been  beyond  his  most  sanguine  expectations. 
But  this  was  not  all ;  he  had  learned  to  grapple  with  diffi 
culties,  and  by  energy  and  determination  to  accomplish  re 
sults  which  the  irresolute  and  fearful  could  only  dream  of. 
He  called  the  next  morning,  and  in  a  private  interview  with 
Mr.  Rutherford  procured  from  him  a  particular  statement 
of  his  affairs. 

In  a  few  days,  he  called  again ;  and  there  seemed  to  be 
a  cheerfulness  in  his  air  which  he  had  not  before  mani 
fested. 

"  I  have  been  looking  over  your  matters  a  little,  my  dear 
sir,  and  I  cannot  think  that  they  are  in  such  a  hopeless  case 
as  you  imagine.  Your  property  is  indeed  all  attached,  and 
if  sold  under  the  present  state  of  things,  would,  to  be  sure, 
be  dreadfully  sacrificed,  and  might  not  bring  more  than  the 
claims  upon  it :  you  certainly  value  your  estate  beyond  the 
amount  for  which  it  is  holden." 

"  Most  certainly ;  but,  by  our  laws,  an  immediate  sale 
can  be  forced  ;  and  in  that  case,  the  whole  will  scarcely  meet 
the  demand." 

"  You  must  apply  then  to  some  friend  who  will  assume 
your  debts" — Mr.  Rutherford  shook  his  head — "and  who 
will  take  your  property  into  his  hands,  until  better  times 
come  round." 

"  I  have  no  friends,  Mr.  Andrews." 

"  We  once  thought,"  said  Mrs.  Rutherford,  who  was  lis 
tening  with  much  interest,  "  that  we  had  quite  a  number ; 
but  friends  do  not  always  stand  the  test  of  such  a  fall  as 
ours  has  been." 

"  But  they  could  not  possibly  lose  any  thing,  Mrs. 
Rutherford." 

"  Perhaps  they  might  not ;  still,  you  know,  it  is  a  deli 
cate  matter  to  ask  the  favor,  when  not  one  of  all  who  have 
been  with  us  in  our  prosperous  days  has  seen  fit  to  come 
near  us  now.  My  dear  husband,  until  you  so  generously 
had  poured  out  your  kindness,  felt  that  he  was  alone  in  the 
world." 

For  some  time  each  sat  musing  in  silence  over  the  un 
certainty  of  human  fortunes  and  earthly  friendships,  when 
Mr.  Andrews  drew  up  to  the  table,  and  requesting  the  at 
tention  of  Mr.  Rutherford  a  moment,  began  to  spread  before 
him  certain  documents. 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  259 

"  Please  to  examine  these,  sir,  and  say  whether  they  are 
correct." 

"  These  are  my  obligations,  Mr.  Andrews — I  gave  them 
in  good  faith ;  and  although  I  cannot  meet  them  now,  will 
own  them  to  the  last  farthing."  Mr.  Rutherford  looked 
with  much  astonishment,  for  he  perceived  that  all  the  re 
sponsibilities  he  was  involved  in  were  lying  before  him. 

"  Are  there  any  more  that  you  can  think  of,  Mr.  Ruther 
ford  ?" 

"  There  are  no  more." 

"  Then,  sir,  you  may  take  them  and  do  what  you  please 
with  them :  all  I  ask  of  you  is,  to  give  me  a  claim  upon  your 
property  for  this  amount,"  naming  not  more  than  two- 
thirds  the  value  of  the  notes.  "  The  interest  of  that  I  am 
sure  you  can  pay,  and  your  property  is  once  more  your 
own." 

William  was  well  aware  that  promptness  in  such  mat 
ters  was  of  the  first  moment.  He  had  at  once  liquidated 
every  claim  at  a  rate  which  each  one  was  glad  to  accept, 
and  thus  materially  reduced  the  whole  amount :  this  he 
could  be  well  secured  for ;  the  property  of  his  benefactor 
need  not  be  sacrificed,  and  his  heart  was  at  rest. 

Blessings  on  you,  William  Andrews !  Your  frame  is 
slender,  and  seems  to  be  nurturing  some  hidden  plague  that 
may  ere  long  make  it  a  prey  to  the  worm ;  but  it  is  the 
abode  of  a  generous  spirit.  How  its  quickened  pulses  beat 
with  the  ecstatic  happiness  which  now  plays  within  !  Your 
eye  is  on  that  noble  pair ;  and  the  overpowering  emotion 
which  is  thrilling  their  bosom  at  this  new  and  unexpected 
deed  of  love,  is  the  richest  feast  you  ever  tasted.  Oh  how 
they  will  bless  you  as  the  years  roll  by.  when  in  their  happy 
home  and  on  their  own  paternal  soil  they  tread  in  freedom, 
and  think  of  him  whose  generous  friendship  snatched  them 
from  the  brink  of  ruin  and  placed  them  there  !  Oh  ye 
lovers  of  this  world's  treasures,  did  you  but  know  the  secret 
charm  these  treasures  can  unfold !  Go,  dry  the  widow's 
tears  ;  go,  aid  the  orphan's  helpless  steps ;  go,  prop  the 
man  of  pure  and  noble  soul,  bowing  beneath  the  weight  of 
penury's  heavy  load — and  you  will  feel  there  is  a  talisman 
of  untold  value  in  your  hoards  of  gold  and  silver  which  you 
never  dreamed  of. 

Mr.  Rutherford  had  no  idea  of  taking  advantage  of  the 


260  JAMES    MONTJOY  ;     OR, 


arrangement  Andrews  bad  made,  and  insisted  upon  giving 
a  claim  for  the  full  amount ;  but  tbis  William  would  not 
allow.  He  had  made  a  fair  bargain  with  the  creditors,  and 
would  not  permit  Mr.  Rutherford  to  bind  himself  further 
than  the  amount  he  had  paid. 

"  You  can,  my  dear  sir,  as  you  are  able,  make  good  to 
each  one  what  he  has  willingly  relinquished." 

"  And,  Grod  permitting,  I  will  do  it  to  the  full  amount." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

WE  left  our  friends  the  Montjoys  busy  in  their  store, 
taking  an  account  of  their  affairs,  and  preparing  to  encoun 
ter  the  difficulties  they  had  been  thrown  into.  They  found 
things  not  quite  so  bad  as  they  feared.  Should  the  whole 
loss  be  realized,  all  which  they  had  made  would  be  swept 
off;  but  there  would  be  enough  to  pay  their  debts — that 
was  a  great  comfort :  and  if  they  could  but  preserve  their 
credit,  matters  might  all  come  right  again.  With  the 
promptness  which  had  ever  marked  his  conduct,  the  morn 
ing  after  the  reception  of  the  intelligence  which  had  given 
them  such  a  shock,  James  was  on  his  way  to  his  friend 
McFall. 

The  statement  which  he  was  enabled  to  make  was  very 
satisfactory ;  and  would  have  been  all  that  was  required, 
could  his  friend  have  been  able  to  advance  the  funds. 
The  pressure  was  indeed  of  a  most  serious  kind,  affecting 
individuals  and  banks  alike ;  and  requiring  on  the  part 
of  each  the  utmost  skill  and  exertion  to  stem  it  through. 
James  found  that  his  only  resource,  now,  to  meet  the 
present  emergency  was  to  lay  his  case  immediately  before 
the  bank ;  if  he  failed  to  procure  aid  from  thence,  he 
saw  not  whence  it  was  to  come.  The  power  which  by 
circumstances  becomes  thus  concentrated,  can  only  truly 
be  felt  by  those  situated  as  was  this  young  man.  Whether 
it  be  an  individual,  or  a  corporate  body,  and  whether 
they  are  conscious  of  it  or  not,  the  ability,  for  the  time 
being,  which  is  at  their  command,  to  afford  or  to  withhold 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  261 

the  life-blood  of  trade  and  commercial  credit,  is  the  most 
despotic  in  its  grasp  on  the  mind  of  man  that  can  be  con 
ceived  this  side  of  infinite  sway.  It  is  not,  of  necessity, 
the  fault  of  those  who  wield  it.  that  it  should  often  press 
with  such  sickening,  despairing  force ;  so  long  as  enterprise 
shall  stimulate  man  to  go  a  step  beyond  the  means  at  his 
own  disposal,  must  he  in  some  measure  depend  upon  the 
aid  of  others ;  and  once  dependent,  he  can  never  calculate 
with  certainty  upon  enduring  peace  of  mind.  The  fluc 
tuations  in  trade,  like  changes  in  the  weather,  baffle  all  the 
skill  of  the  most  shrewd  and  far-sighted :  they  come  at 
times  before  any  suitable  preparation  can  be  made  to  meet 
their  destructive  influence,  and  the  high-minded,  honorable 
man  is  obliged  to  stand  before  the  same  tribunal  with  tho 
mean  and  designing,  and  far  too  often  compelled  to  submit 
to  rules  which  make  no  allowance  for  character. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  James  had  known  really  what 
it  meant  to  ask  a  moneyed  favor.  He  had  begun  life  as  we 
have  seen,  and  gone  on,  hitherto,  so  much  by  his  own  means, 
that  he  felt  more  like  a  criminal  about  to  be  arraigned  than 
an  honest  man  in  the  discharge  of  duty ;  and  nothing  but 
the  absolute  necessity  of  doing  something  to  preserve  the 
credit  of  his  house,  and  upon  which  every  thing  now  depend 
ed,  would  have  driven  him  to  it.  He  was  not  personally 
known  to  the  cashier,  and  therefore  his  friend  accompanied 
him  to  the  bank,  introduced  him,  and  left  him  to  tell  his 
own  story.  Fortunately  for  James,  the  person  he  had  now 
to  deal  with  was  a  gentleman  in  every  sense  of  the  word ;  a 
man  of  large  experience,  at  home  in  all  the  routine  of  busi 
ness,  a  complete  financier,  and  with  a  large  share  of  true 
benevolence. 

Every  unpleasant  feeling  was,  for  the  time,  at  once  ban 
ished  by  the  agreeable,  frank,  and  very  kind  manner  with 
which  this  officer  received  and  addressed  him.  James  felt 
almost  sure  that  his  end  was  accomplished.  He  very  soon, 
in  a  brief  manner,  related  the  circumstances  in  which  he  had 
been  placed  by  the  sudden  failure  of  so  many  persons,  and 
then  handed  to  the  cashier  the  schedule  of  his  property  and 
liabilities. 

After  carefully  scrutinizing  this  paper,  with  an  air  and 
expression  of  countenance  that  showed  his  business  charac 
ter,  the  stern  and  cold  features  of  which  damped  James's 


262  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

hopes  not  a  little,  and  at  times  caused  a  fluttering  at  hia 
heart,  which  he  had  never  felt  before — 

"  You  are  aware,  I  presume,  Mr.  Montjoy,  that  these  are 
not  only  precarious  times,  in  which  the  bank  feel  that  the 
utmost  caution  must  be  used,  but  the  times  are  also  very 
difficult.  We  cannot  aid  often,  where  we  not  only  wish  to, 
but  should  feel  safe  in  so  doing.  It  is  as  necessary  for  us 
to  keep  our  credit  unblemished  as  for  individuals.  I  will, 
however,  lay  your  proposition  before  the  board ;  if  you  will 
call  again  at  one  o'clock,  you  shall  have  the  answer." 

Two  long  hours  of  intense  anxiety  were  passed,  such  as 
James  had  never  before  experienced.  Not  caring  to  return 
to  the  house  of  Mr.  McFall,  he  repaired  to  a  grove  which 
lined  the  banks  of  a  pretty  river  that  glided  through  the 
place ;  he  sat  down  beneath  the  shade,  and  listened  to  the 
murmuring  stream  and  the  warbling  birds — they  were  sights 
and  sounds  which  he  had  always  loved ;  but  he  now  realized 
how  necessary  it  was,  to  the  enjoyment  of  nature's  simple 
sweets,  to  have  a  mind  at  rest.  How  often  had  he.  after  a 
weary  day,  sat  in  the  quiet  evening,  and  with  Ned  enjoyed 
its  calm  serenity,  and  watched  the  moonbeams  play  upon  the 
water,  or  through  the  trembling  leaves,  and  the  bright  stars 
coming  one  by  one,  and  gemming  all  the  sky !  What  pure 
and  peaceful  thoughts  they  kindled,  and  how  unalloyed  the 
happiness  that  spread  its  soothing,  quickening  glow  through 
all  his  frame !  How  he  looked  back  now,  as  to  an  Eden, 
where  he  once  had  rioted,  but  from  which  he  seemed  to  be 
expelled  for  ever  !  Care,  that  canker  of  the  heart,  had  come 
and  taken,  like  a  strong  man  armed,  the  full  possession  of 
his  powers ;  tinging  the  heavens  and  the  earth  with  its  dark 
hue,  and  spoiling  all  their  beauties,  and  even  touching  with 
its  blight  the  warm  feelings  of  his  soul,  just  beginning  to 
enjoy  the  sweetest  draught  of  earthly  bliss — a  pure  and  mu 
tual  love. 

At  the  appointed  time  he  returned  to  the  bank ;  it  seem 
ed  to  him  that  the  interests  of  the  universe  were  at  stake ; 
and  as  he  walked  up  to  the  tall,  commanding  form  of  the 
cashier,  the  man  appeared  to  be  vested  with  a  power  that 
held  the  very  springs  of  life  at  his  command. 

He  was  received  with  the  same  gentlemanly  manner  as 
at  his  introduction,  and  requested  to  walk  behind  the 
counter  and  take  a  seat,  and  as  though  he  knew  the  work 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  263 

ings  of  the  young  man's  mind,  and  wished  at  once  to  relieve 
his  suspense — 

"  The  directors  have  concluded  to  accept  your  paper,  sir ; 
sit  down.  Mr.  Montjoy ;"  and  James  took  the  seat  with  a 
lighter  heart  than  he  had  felt  for  some  time.  "  They  have 
done  it  in  the  confidence  that  your  statement  is  correct : 
and  I  will  say  further  to  you,  sir,  as  you  are  a  young 
man,  and  have  much  business  yet  before  you.  that  the 
manner  in  which  you  have  commenced  and  carried  on  your 
trade,  has  had  great  weight  in  determining  the  decision 
of  the  board.  The  times  at  present  are  very  precarious,  and 
you  will  need  much  prudence ;  but,  sir,  I  believe  I  can  as 
sure  you,  that  so  long  as  you  confine  your  operations  to 
the  regular  run  of  your  business,  that  any  facilities  you  may 
need  will  be  at  your  service  here." 

The  sun  shone  very  brightly  to  James  as  he  journeyed 
towards  home  that  day :  nature  was  almost  as  captivating  to 
him  as  in  the  days  of  childhood ;  and  the  joyous  shake  of 
Ned's  hand,  and  the  calm  sweet  smile  of  his  mother,  as  they 
listened  to  his  story,  all  made  his  heart  leap  in  gladness,  and 
send  up  to  Him,  whose  blessing  was  the  burden  of  his  daily 
petitions,  warm  and  devout  thanksgiving. 

Thus  the  storm,  which  had  threatened  to  overwhelm  these 
young  men,  passed  with  but  partial  injury.  The  foundation 
they  had  laid  in  patient  industry,  prudent  management,  and 
stern  integrity,  bore  them  proudly  on.  The  wily  plots  of 
Mr.  Cross  were  anticipated  by  the  promptness  with  which 
James  attended  to  his  affairs ;  and  for  the  present,  at  least, 
the  young  firm  is  safe. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  Widow  Brown,  in  consequence  of  the  disclosure 
made  by  the  dying  Ned  Saunders,  was  placed  in  no  very 
agreeable  situation.  She  thought  that  the  unhappy  man  had 
his  reason,  but  she  could  not  be  so  very  sure  as  to  be  willing 
to  publish  what  might  not  after  all  be  true,  to  the  certain 


264  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

injury,  not  only  of  Mr.  Cross,  who  had  ever  been  kind  to 
her,  but  of  the  son  also,  who  had  wound  himself  around  her 
heart,  and  for  whom  she  had  been  so  earnestly  entreated 
by  that  miserable  woman  who  claimed  to  be  his  mother. 

She  comprehended  but  a  very  little  of  the  nature  of  pa 
pers  of  any  kind,  beyond  those  solemn  legacies  from  Grod  to 
man,  which  daily  she  perused  with  love  and  gratitude.  And 
what  Ned  Saunders  meant  by  papers,  which  Mr.  Cross  was 
anxious  to  get  hold  of,  she  could  not  conceive. 

"The  poor,  deluded  soul,"  said  she  one  day,  while  walk 
ing  alone,  •  her  thoughts  too  burdensome  to  be  kept  in  ;  '•  I 
am  very  doubtful  that  he  knew  what  he  said  when  he  talked 
about  those  papers ;  and  now  that  the  dreadful  deed  is  done, 
what  good  end  can  be  answered  by  publishing  it  abroad  ? — 
it  will  not  build  the  house  again,  and  God  will  avenge  it 
in  his  own  time  and  way." 

She  wished  much,  however,  for  the  time  when  William 
should  be  able  to  make  some  disclosures  as  to  his  share  in 
the  terrible  transaction.  That  he  was  a  participator  in  the 
crime  she  could  not  believe  ;  but  that  he  had  attacked  Ned 
Saunders,  and  that  the  consequences  had  proved  fatal  to  one 
of  them,  she  had  too  strong  evidence  to  doubt.  The  whole 
was  altogether  beyond  the  comprehension  of  the  poor  widow, 
and  all  she  could  do,  at  present,  was  to  wait  for  time  to  make 
plain  the  path  of  duty. 

William,  however,  could  no  longer  bear  the  struggle 
which  agitated  his  mind,  and  he  determined  to  unburden  it. 
As  there  were  reasons  why  he  preferred  to  communicate 
with  his  sister,  he  took  an  opportunity,  when  alone,  to  reveal 
all  he  knew,  and  let  her  into  the  secret  of  his  own  present 
condition,  and  the  villainy  of  Cross.  Hettie's  first  impulse 
was  to  fly  at  once  to  Mr.  Rutherford. 

"  He  ought  to  be  made  acquainted  with  these  facts  with 
out  a  moment's  delay." 

"  But  David,  sister,  think  of  him." 

Hettie  was  silent ;  she  gazed  a  moment  at  her  brother, 
then  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  resting  her  head  upon 
her  hand,  was  lost  for  awhile  in  busy  thought. 

"  David  must  be  told,  William  ;  he  must  know  it  before 
any  one  else  ;  he  has  had  no  hand  in  it,  and  all  his  kind 
ness  to  us  demands  this  confidence  in  him." 

William  made  no  reply  ;  he  was  much  exhausted,  and  the 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  265 


effort  of  thinking  even  was  painful.  The  mother  also  now 
came  in,  and,  wishing  a  little  relaxation,  Hettie  left  the  room 
and  sought  a  favorite  spot  to  which  she  was  in  the  habit  of 
retiring,  sheltered  alike  from  the  rays  of  the  sun  and  com 
mon  observation ; — a  tumult  of  distracting  thoughts  rioted 
within ;  again  and  again  she  resolved  the  doubtful  ques 
tion  as  to  her  present  duty,  and  the  difficulties  attending 
any  course  which  presented  itself  to  her  were  so  great  that 
she  most  heartily  longed  for  some  experienced  counsel  to 
guide  her  steps. 

In  the  midst  of  her  perplexities,  she  was  startled  at  the 
sound  of  approaching  footsteps. 

"  I  thought  I  should  never  find  you.  Your  mother  said 
she  guessed  you  was  here ;  but  that  thick  clump  of  bushes 
hid  you  so,  that  I  had  almost  given  it  up." 

"  I  come  here  occasionally,  it  is  so  retired." 

"  I  should  think  it  was  retired  enough  ;  but  I  don't  see 
what  you  want  to  get  off  so  alone  for  ;  it  is  lonely  enough,  I 
should  think,  all  o'fer  these  old  barrens.  But  aint  you  glad 
Bill  is  so  much  better?" 

"  He  is  better  certainly,  David ;  more  like  himself  than 
he  has  been  yet — don't  you  think  so?" 

"  That  he  is — but  you  look  sick ;  you  sit  round  the  bed 
too  much,  Hettie.  You  want  a  ride — come — Bony's  at  the 
cottage — go  along  with  me :  we  will  soon  bring  your  color 
back." 

"  Not  to-day,  David  ;  indeed  I  have  no  desire  to  ride  to 
day,  and  besides,  since  you  are  here,  I  want  to  have  some 
conversation  with  you,  upon  a  matter  in  which  you  are 
deeply  concerned." 

"  Well,  come  on — I'm  ready  for  any  thing — out  with  it. 
I'm  so  glad  Bill  is  better,  I  don't  care  what  comes  now ; — 
but  look  cheerful  a  little  ;  do,  I  beg  of  you  ;  I  have  dark  looks 
enough  at  home.  The  old  man  is  so  cross  about  something 
or  other  lately,  that  he  can't  give  me  a  civil  word.  I  thought 
when  I  came  along,  what  I  would  give  just  to  live  among 
you  here.  I  tell  you  what,  Hettie,  I  had  rather  live  with 
you  and  your  mother,  and  have  nothing  but  bread  and 
water,  only  to  hear  kind  words  ; — well,  you  are  queer — just 
now  you  was  so  pale,  and  now  your  face  is  red  as  a  rose." 

Hettie  felt  the  flush  which  David  had  noticed ;  he  had 
never  spoken  quite  so  plainly  to  her  before,  and  she  began  to 
12 


264  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

injury,  not  only  of  Mr.  Gross,  who  had  ever  been  kind  to 
her,  but  of  the  son  also,  who  had  wound  himself  around  her 
heart,  and  for  whom  she  had  been  so  earnestly  entreated 
by  that  miserable  woman  who  claimed  to  be  his  mother. 

She  comprehended  but  a  very  little  of  the  nature  of  pa 
pers  of  any  kind,  beyond  those  solemn  legacies  from  God  to 
man,  which  daily  she  perused  with  love  and  gratitude.  And 
what  Ned  Saunders  meant  by  papers,  which  Mr.  Cross  was 
anxious  to  get  hold  of,  she  could  not  conceive. 

"The  poor,  deluded  soul,"  said  she  one  day,  while  walk 
ing  alone,  -her  thoughts  too  burdensome  to  be  kept  in ;  '•  I 
am  very  doubtful  that  he  knew  what  he  said  when  he  talked 
about  those  papers ;  and  now  that  the  dreadful  deed  is  done, 
what  good  end  can  be  answered  by  publishing  it  abroad  ? — 
it  will  not  build  the  house  again,  and  Grod  will  avenge  it 
in  his  own  time  and  way." 

She  wished  much,  however,  for  the  time  when  William 
should  be  able  to  make  some  disclosures  as  to  his  share  in 
the  terrible  transaction.  That  he  was  a  participator  in  the 
crime  she  could  not  believe ;  but  that  he  had  attacked  Ned 
Saunders,  and  that  the  consequences  had  proved  fatal  to  one 
of  them,  she  had  too  strong  evidence  to  doubt.  The  whole 
was  altogether  beyond  the  comprehension  of  the  poor  widow, 
and  all  she  could  do,  at  present,  was  to  wait  for  time  to  make 
plain  the  path  of  duty. 

William,  however,  could  no  longer  bear  the  struggle 
which  agitated  his  mind,  and  he  determined  to  unburden  it. 
As  there  were  reasons  why  he  preferred  to  communicate 
with  his  sister,  he  took  an  opportunity,  when  alone,  to  reveal 
all  he  knew,  and  let  her  into  the  secret  of  his  own  present 
condition,  and  the  villainy  of  Cross.  Hettie's  first  impulse 
was  to  fly  at  once  to  Mr.  Rutherford. 

"  He  ought  to  be  made  acquainted  with  these  facts  with 
out  a  moment's  delay." 

"  But  David,  sister,  think  of  him." 

Hettie  was  silent ;  she  gazed  a  moment  at  her  brother, 
then  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  resting  her  head  upon 
her  hand,  was  lost  for  awhile  in  busy  thought. 

"  David  must  be  told,  William  ;  he  must  know  it  before 
any  one  else  ;  he  has  had  no  hand  in  it,  and  all  his  kind 
ness  to  us  demands  this  confidence  in  him." 

William  made  no  reply  ;  he  was  much  exhausted,  and  the 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  265 


effort  of  thinking  even  was  painful.  The  mother  also  now 
came  in,  and,  wishing  a  little  relaxation,  Hettie  left  the  room 
and  sought  a  favorite  spot  to  which  she  was  in  the  habit  of 
retiring,  sheltered  alike  from  the  rays  of  the  sun  and  com 
mon  observation ; — a  tumult  of  distracting  thoughts  rioted 
within ;  again  and  again  she  resolved  the  doubtful  ques 
tion  as  to  her  present  duty,  and  the  difficulties  attending 
any  course  which  presented  itself  to  her  were  so  great  that 
she  most  heartily  longed  for  some  experienced  counsel  to 
guide  her  steps. 

In  the  midst  of  her  perplexities,  she  was  startled  at  the 
sound  of  approaching  footsteps. 

"  I  thought  I  should  never  find  you.  Your  mother  said 
she  guessed  you  was  here ;  but  that  thick  clump  of  bushes 
hid  you  so,  that  I  had  almost  given  it  up." 

"  I  come  here  occasionally,  it  is  so  retired." 

"  I  should  think  it  was  retired  enough  ;  but  I  don't  see 
what  you  want  to  get  off  so  alone  for  ;  it  is  lonely  enough,  I 
should  think,  all  otfer  these  old  barrens.  But  aint  you  glad 
Bill  is  so  much  better?" 

"  He  is  better  certainly,  David  ;  more  like  himself  than 
he  has  been  yet — don't  you  think  so?" 

"  That  he  is — but  you  look  sick ;  you  sit  round  the  bed 
too  much,  Hettie.  You  want  a  ride — come — Bony's  at  the 
cottage — go  along  with  me :  we  will  soon  bring  your  color 
back." 

"  Not  to-day,  David  ;  indeed  I  have  no  desire  to  ride  to 
day,  and  besides,  since  you  are  here,  I  want  to  have  some 
conversation  with  you,  upon  a  matter  in  which  you  are 
deeply  concerned." 

"  Well,  come  on — I'm  ready  for  any  thing — out  with  it. 
I'm  so  glad  Bill  is  better,  I  don't  care  what  comes  now ; — • 
but  look  cheerful  a  little  ;  do,  I  beg  of  you  ;  I  have  dark  looks 
enough  at  home.  The  old  man  is  so  cross  about  something 
or  other  lately,  that  he  can't  give  me  a  civil  word.  I  thought 
when  I  came  along,  what  I  would  give  just  to  live  among 
you  here.  I  tell  you  what,  Hettie,  I  had  rather  live  with 
you  and  your  mother,  and  have  nothing  but  bread  and 
water,  only  to  hear  kind  words  ; — well,  you  are  queer — just 
now  you  was  so  pale,  and  now  your  face  is  red  as  a  rose." 

Hettie  felt  the  flush  which  David  had  noticed :  he  had 
never  spoken  quite  so  plainly  to  her  before,  and  she  began  to 
12 


266  JAMES   MONTJOT  :  '  OR, 


fear  what  next  might  come  ;  so  she  commenced  the  unpleas 
ant  task  of  making  a  development.  They  sat  down  together 
on  the  bench — a  rude  one  it  was— rthat  Hettie  had  contrived 
herself. 

David  listened  with  deep  attention  to  her  recital,  which 
was  not  given  just  in  the  order  that  she  received  it ;  for  she 
began  at  the  catastrophe,  and  told  the  story  as  well  as  she 
could,  without  alluding  to  the  main  instigator  of  the  plot. 

"  But  what  could  have  induced  those  men  to  commit  such 
a  deed  ?  and  what  could  they  have  wanted  with  the  trunk, 
without  there  was  money  in  it  ?" 

"  There  was  no  money  in  it,  but  there  were  papers  of 
great  consequence." 

"  Papers  ?  what  could  they  know  about  papers  ?  they 
can't  read,  not  one  of  them ;  what  good  would  papers  do 
them  ?"  And  David  arose  from  the  seat  and  stood  up  be 
fore  her,  his  countenance  pale  and  his  lips  trembling  with 
emotion. 

"  There  is  something  more  in  all  this  that  you  have  not 
yet  told  me,  Hettie ;  some  one  is  at  the  bottom  of  it.  Who 
is  it?" 

Hettie  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  Hettie  ;  out  with  it — is  it  my  father  ?" 

Hettie  burst  into  tears,  and  David  sank  to  the  earth, 
helpless  as  an  infant.  Seeing  that  he  was  greatly  agitated, 
and  that  he  seemed  in  need  of  help,  she  was  about  to  go  for 
her  mother. 

"Don't  leave  me,  Hettie.  Do  you  think  that  this  is 
truth,  and  that  William  has  his  reason  ?" 

"  He  seems  to  have  it,  perfectly ;  he  has  given  a  clear 
account  of  things  from  the  first — I  fear  it  is  true." 

"  Does  any  one  know  of  this  besides  you  and  your  bro 
ther?" 

"  No  human  being  as  yet." 

"  Depend  upon  it,  Hettie,  if  my  father  has  instigated  this 
act,  he  has  been  in  some  way  thwarted  in  his  design  ;  for  his 
temper,  never  very  good,  has  been  outrageous  for  some  time 
past ;  so  much  so.  that  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  leave  him 
and  this  region  for  ever.  There  is  but  one  thing  which  keeps 
me  ; — you  and  your  mother  are  the  only  persons  in  the  world 
that  I  care  much  about — and  you  I  love  as  I  do  my  life.  If 
you  will  marry  me,  Hettie,  I  will  get  together  all  I  have  got ; 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  267 

it  will  be  enough  to  purchase  us  a  place  far  away  from  here, 
and  we  will  take  your  mother,  and  Bill,  too,  if  he  gets  well ; 
and  how  happy  we  shall  be." 

Hettie  was  deeply  affected,  but  she  felt  that  she  must 
deal  plainly  with  him. 

"  You  must  not  talk  so,  David  ;  you  and  I  can  never  be 
married."  % 

"  You  are  ashamed  of  me  already,  Hettie.  My  father's 
disgrace,  I  see,  is  to  be  mine." 

"  I  shall  never  attach  to  you,  David,  whatever  wrong 
your  father  has  done — but  let  us  say  no  more  about  this. 
You  have  ever  been  kind  to  me  and  my  family ;  all  that  a 
sister  can  do  for  you,  I  will ;  beyond  this  I  hope  you  will 
not  urge  me ;  but  there  are  some  things  to  be  thought  of 
that  must  be  done  soon.  Mr.  Rutherford  ought  not  to  be 
kept  ignorant  of  this  matter.  I  have,  out  of  kindness  to 
you,  told  you  what  I  have  heard,  and  with  a  hope  that  you 
will  make  an  effort  to  recover  these  papers,  and  thus  in  part 
frustrate  an  evil  design,  and  perhaps  save  your  father  from 
a  great  calamity.  William  has  told  me  that  he  has  some 
faint  recollection  of  feeling  the  trunk  taken  from  his  grasp, 
while  he  lay  in  that  helpless  condition.  You  think  your 
father  has  not  got  it ;  probably,  then,  it  is  in  the  bands  of 
some  person  who  does  not  realize  the  value  of  it.  and  may 
easily  be  induced  to  relinquish  it." 

"  I  will  do  what  I  can,  Hettie,  to  find  out ;  but  I  caution 
you  to  let  no  person  know  a  word  of  all  this,  at  least  not 
until  I  have  failed  in  finding  out  some  clue  to  it.  Should 
Rutherford  know  what  you  do,  and  make  attempts  to  search, 
or  to  expose  matters,  it  would  be  the  very  way,  as  things  are 
here,  to  have  it  put  where  no  one  can  ever  be  the  wiser  for 
it.  If  my  father  has  not  got  the  trunk  or  the  papers — and 
I  don't  believe  he  has,  for  the  reason  I  have  told  you — it  is 
probably  in  the  hands  of  some  one  who  has  taken  it  from 
Bill,  and  is  afraid  to  say  any  thing,  for  fear  he  would  be 
charged  with  an  attempt  to  murder." 

David's  reasoning  appeared  so  plausible,  that  Hettie  co 
incided  with  him  as  to  the  propriety,  at  present,  of  saying 
nothing  further  on  the  subject  to  any  one. 


268  JAMES   MONTJOY  J     OR, 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THERE  were  many  things  in  the  circumstances  of  Mr. 
Cross,  in  themselves  not  very  desirable.  He  had,  to  be  sure, 
injured  Mr.  Rutherford ;  he  had  destroyed  his  home ;  he 
had,  by  his  artifice,  brought  him  to  cruel  suffering  and  mor 
tification  ;  and  he  had  wrested  from  him  an  instrument  of 
immense  value  to  its  rightful  owner,  although  of  very  doubt 
ful  utility  to  himself.  But  this  very  instrument  had  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  one  whom  he  hated  and  feared,  and  was 
now  held  over  him  as  a  rod  of  terror,  to  force  him  into  com 
pliance  with  just  such  measures  as  the  dictator  chose. 

He  had  committed  also  a  flagrant  crime — one  that  ren 
dered  him  liable  to  the  severest  penalty  of  the  law ;  and  the 
knowledge  of  what  he  had  done  was  not  confined  to  himself 
and  his  agents.  One  at  least,  besides,  held  the  fatal  secret ; 
and  although  she  was  a  lone  widow,  and  very  much  under 
his  power,  still  she  might  disclose  it — perhaps  she  had. 

His  situation  was  no  enviable  one.  He  walked  by  the 
crater  of.  a  volcano ;  he  could  see  the  fires  and  hear  the 
rumbling  beneath  him ; — at  any  moment  he  might  be  in 
gulfed. 

The  wicked  make  the  toils  which  entangle  and  distress 
them,  but  they  are  not  the  less  troublesome  on  that  account. 
Cross  saw  that  something  must  be  done,  and  without  delay. 
The  first  step  was,  to  ascertain  what  amount  of  information 
Ned  Saunders  had  communicated  to  the  Widow  Brown,  and 
then  by  some  means,  fair  or  foul,  stop  it  from  going  any 
further.  There  was  also  a  mystery  about  the  disaster  which 
had  befallen  William  Brown ;  somehow  he  believed  it  to  be 
connected  with  the  loss  of  the  trunk  and  the  injury  to  Saun 
ders,  in  what  way  he  could  not  unravel ;  but  he  firmly  be 
lieved  that  William  knew,  if  he  could  or  would  tell,  more 
than  any  one  else.  Cross  had  visited  him  frequently  during 
his  illness,  and  kept  a  shrewd  eye  upon  him,  at  the  same 
time  continuing  acts  of  kindness  towards  the  family,  as  well 
as  encouraging  the  attentions  of  David. 

He  saw  clearly,  at  length,  that  William  was  recovering 
his  strength,  and  even  guessed  that  he  had  more  ability  to 
converse  than  he  felt  willing  should  be  known. 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  269 


It  may  seem  strange  that  a  father  could  be  willing  to 
expose  his  baseness  to  a  son  ;  but  when  the  heart  becomes 
accustomed  to  iniquity,  it  loses  the  finer  feelings,  and  becomes 
callous  to  all  sense  of  shame,  or  even  desire  for  the  respect 
and  love  of  its  nearest  kindred.  Cross  thought  he  saw  how 
he  might,  through  the  influence  of  his  son,  keep  a  hold  upon 
that  family,  and  he  scrupled  not  to  make  a  confidant  of  him, 
even  to  the  exposure  of  his  own  base  purposes. 

David  had  just  returned  from  the  cottage ;  it  was  at  the 
closing  of  day  ;  Cross  was  alone  in  his  store,  and  sat  ponder 
ing  upon  his  plans  and  prospects,  and  the  multitude  of 
dangers  surrounding  him. 

"•  Have  you  been  at  the  Widow  Brown's  ?" 

"  Just  come  from  there." 

"How  is  Bill?" 

"  Better  ;  pretty  weak  though  yet." 

"  Can  he  talk  yet  ?" 

"  Not  much." 

"  Not  much  !  Can  he  talk  at  all  ?  if  he  can.  I  want  to 
know  it.  But  where  are  you  going  now?" 

"  Not  far ;  up  north  a  short  distance." 

"  You  can't  go  now  ;  sit  down — I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

David  obeyed  without  making  any  reply ;  he  did  not 
fancy  his  father's  talks  very  much,  but  he  feared  to  offend 
him. 

"  I've  got  into  trouble,  and  you  may  as  well  know  it ;  it 
has  all  been  done  to  give  you  a  lift,  and  make  you  something 
in  the  world  ;  but  things  have  gone  wrong  end  foremost,  and 
now  we  must  make  the  best  of  them." 

Cross  looked  at  his  son  and  paused,  seeming  to  expect  an 
answer ;  but  David  either  did  not  care  how  things  went, 
or  he  wished  to  know  more  about  them  before  venturing  upon 
a  reply. 

"  You  know  Rutherford's  house  has  been  burned,  and 
that  Ned  Saunders  is  dead ;  he  was  the  one  who  did  that 
job.  He's  gone  out  of  the  way,  to  be  sure;  but  he  has  told  a 
pack  of  lies  to  old  Molly  Brown,  and  if  she  should  blab  it 
about,  we  might  get  into  a  mess  of  trouble  ;  but  I  suppose 
you  know  all  about  it — she  has  let  it  out  to  you,  no  doubt." 

But  David  made  no  signs  of  acknowledgment  as  to  whe 
ther  he  did  or  did  not  know  any  thing  about  it. 


270  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

"  Are  you  dumb,  all  at  once,  that  you  cannot  speak  when 
you  are  spoken  to  ?" 

"  You  haven't  asked  me  any  question  yet." 

"  Yes.  I  have ; — has  Molly  Brown  told  you  what  Ned 
Haunders  said?" 

"  She  has  not." 

"  Has  she  talked  about  it  that  you  know  of?" 

"  Not  that  I  know  of." 

Cross  sat  silent  for  some  time  ;  at  length  making  another 
effort,  he  disclosed  his  purpose. 

"  The  fact  is,  the  old  woman  knows  too  much  for  our 
good.  She  likes  you  well  enough ;  you  know  that,  I  sup 
pose,  and  she  has  good  reason  to ;  you  can  stop  her  tongue, 
if  you  will." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  how." 

"  How  ?  Why,  by  marrying  Hettie  ;  she  can't  hurt  us 
then,  without  hurting  her  own  child,  and  she  won't  be  likely 
to  do  that.  You  shall  have  money  enough :  the  barrens  are 
pretty  much  all  ours  now,  or  they  will  be  when  this  matter 
is  once  quashed." 

"  How  so  ?" 

"  Why,  Rutherford's  deed  for  them  is  burned  up,  and 
there  is  no  record  of  it,  and  mine  covers  it  all." 

"  But  suppose  I  should  tell  you  that  Rutherford's  deed 
is  not  burnt  ?'' 

"  How  do  you  know  it  aint?"  and  Cross  arose  from  his 
seat  in  great  excitement. 

"Bill  Brown  has  told  all  about  it;  he  laid  on  the  truck- 
bed  under  the  counter  the  night  you  and  old  Foster  were 
here  together." 

Dave  looked  at  his  father  for  the  first  time  since  the  com 
mencement  of  the  interview.  The  dim  light  that  came  in 
through  the  open  door  just  enabled  him  to  see  the  ashy  pale 
ness  that  had  overspread  his  features. 

"  Get  me  some  gin  ;"  and  Cross  nearly  fell  into  his  chair, 
as  Dave  stepped  up  to  him. 

"  Get  me  some  gin,  I  say.  quick." 

Dave  immediately  drew  a  tumbler  of  the  clear  liquor, 
and  his  father  taking  it  with  both  hands,  with  difficulty  put 
it  to  his  mouth,  so  violent  was  his  agitation  ;  he  accomplished 
it,  however,  and  did  not  stop  until  the  glass  was  empty ; 
drawing  a  long  breath,  he  handed  back  the  glass. 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  271 


"  Go  sit  down  ;  I'll  be  better  directly."  Some  moments 
elapsed  before  he  could  resume  the  conversation. 

"  Who  has  Bill  Brown  told  that  lie  to  ?" 

"  He  has  told  it  to  his  sister ;  whether  it's  a  lie  or  not,  I 
can't  say.  I  shouldn't  think  he  would  be  like  to  lie  just 
now,  with  one  foot  in  the  grave." 

Cross  saw  too  clearly  that  his  villany  was  fully  exposed ; 
he  sat  apparently  stunned  by  the  perils  which  now  hovered 
over  him.  David  at  last  broke  silence. 

"  The  best  thing  to  be  done  is,  to  give  Rutherford  back 
his  deed." 

"  That  can't  be  done ;  I  have  not  got  it,  nor  has  it  ever 
been  in  my  hands  There  is  only  one  thing  that  can  be  of 
any  use  now,  and  that  is  to  stop  the  mouths  of  that  family  j 
you  can  easily  do  that  by  marrying  the  daughter." 

"It  takes  two  to  make  such  a  bargain  as  that." 

"  You  don't  suppose  she  would  be  fool  enough  to  refuse 
you?" 

"  Fool  or  no  fool,  she  has  refused  me  this  very  day." 

Cross  was  again  silent.  It  appeared  that  difficulties 
arose  at  every  step ;  but  when  the  end  to  be  accomplished 
was  so  important,  the  means  in  his  view  were  of  no  moment. 
A  plan  suggested  itself  to  his  mind,  cruel  and  base  to  be 
sure ;  but  he  was  in  a  strait,  and  what  were  the  feelings  of 
a  lovely  girl,  even  should  her  heart  be  broken,  in  comparison 
with  his  own  selfish  ends  ? 

"  That  is  easy  to  get  along  with — there  aint  half  the  girls 
round  here  that  ever  give  consent  at  all.  Get  her  over  to 
the  old  rendezvous ;  give  the  boys  and  girls  a  wink,  as  to 
what  you  want ;  have  old  Groble  on  the  spot — he's  used  to 
it.  She'll  give  in  easy  enough  when  you're  once  buckled  to 
gether  ;  a  little  kind  treatment  and  plenty  of  money  will 
soon  settle  every  thing;  and  when  you  are  in  the  family,  and 
they  can't  help  themselves,  all  will  go  right  enough ;  and 
then,  if  they  try  to  hurt  either  of  us,  they  will  only  be 
cutting  their  own  heads  off;  they  won't  be  for  doing  that." 

In  order  to  the  clear  understanding  of  the  plan  which 
Cross  had  suggested,  a  little  explanation  will  be  necessary. 

Among  these  rude  people,  the  subject  of  marriage  and 
every  thing  connected  with  it  were  treated  in  a  peculiar  man 
ner  ;  from  first  to  last,  secrecy  seemed  to  be  the  main  in 
gredient  in  the  whole  business.  The  courtship  was  carried 


272  JAMES  MONTJOY;    OR, 

on  clandestinely,  and  very  seldom  was  the  marriage  cere 
mony  completed — it  could  scarcely  be  said  to  be  solemnized 
• — without  at  least  a  show  of  resistance  and  reluctance,  on 
the  part  of  the  female  ;  she  being  often  fairly  forced  into  the 
room  by  the  main  strength  of  her  companions,  and  never  did 
the  minister  expect  a  reply,  or  even  the  sign  of  assent  to  his 
questions  from  either  party.  Groble,  the  character  by  whom 
nearly  all  the  matrimonial  bonds  in  this  region  had  been 
riveted  for  the  last  twenty  years,  was  a  nondescript  minister, 
who  had  some  good  things  in  his  composition,  mixed  with  a 
great  many  others  of  a  very  doubtful  kind.  He  could 
preach  in  a  certain  way,  on  any  occasion  to  which  he  was 
called,  but  he  was  very  seldom  asked  to  perform  any  such 
duty,  and  was  well  content,  so  far  as  he  himself  was  con 
cerned,  to  do  nothing  at  it ;  he  worked  for  his  living  at  a 
small  trade,  and  that,  with  the  trifling  fees  he  received  for 
some  professional  services,  satisfied  his  humble  desires. 

David  Cross  listened  to  these  suggestions  of  his  father, 
outrageous  as  they  were,  with  no  little  interest.  He  loved 
Hettie,  or  at  least  he  thought  he  did  ;  but  educated  as  he  had 
been,  he  could  have  no  very  correct  idea  of  those  refined  and 
delicate  feelings  which  constitute  such  essential  attributes  of 
the  tender  passion :  he  supposed  that  he  could  make  her 
happy,  and  felt  every  disposition  to  do  so.  His  interview 
with  her  the  past  day  had  not  been  as  satisfactory  as  he  had 
wished.  He  had  never  before  doubted  that  she  would  will 
ingly  accept  him,  and  had  always  looked  upon  her  as  appro 
priated  to  himself;  to  be  thus  disappointed,  was  not  by  any 
means  grateful  to  his  uncurbed  will  and  unsubdued  passions. 
It  produced  an  unhappy  effect  upon  his  mind — a  sort  of  de 
termination  to  get  her  into  his  power ;  and  he  meant  it 
in  kindness  too,  for  he  was  sure  that  he  could  make  her 
happy. 

As  his  father,  therefore,  unfolded  to  him  a  way  that  his 
wish  could  be  accomplished,  he  eagerly  caught  at  it,  and 
even  then  resolved  that  she  should  be  his. 

The  meeting  between  William  Andrews  and  his  mother 
was  almost  too  much  for  the  old  lady ;  ^ie  ever  had  loved 
him  dearly,  even  through  all  her  harsh  treatment  of  him. 
She  had  heard  of  his  prosperity  in  his  letters  home ;  he  had 
told  her  that  he  was  doing  well,  and  the  supplies  of  money 
which  he  occasionally  sent  to  her  confirmed  his  statement. 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  273 

But  she  had  not  expected  such  a  change  in  his  appearance. 
His  manners  and  style  of  dress,  and  the  consideration  which 
was  paid  to  him,  caused  the  old  lady  at  times  to  feel  almost 
sad  as  well  as  proud.  William,  however,  was  unchanged  in 
his  affection,  and  left  nothing  undone  that  could  manifest  to 
her  his  filial  respect  and  love.  The  old  house  was  refitted 
in  the  neatest  manner,  as  she  preferred  living  in  that,  she 
said,  the  rest  of  her  days,  to  any  new  one  that  could  be  built. 
She  would  have  been  too  happy,  were  it  not  that  too  many 
tokens  of  disease  manifested  themselves,  for  a  mother's 
eye  not  to  discern  that  there  was  a  worm  at  the  root  of  her 
gourd. 

The  health  of  William  was  not  benefited  by  his  native 
air ;  the  languor  which  oppressed  him  became  more  and 
more  distressing,  and  the  sunken  cheek  and  the  hectic  flush 
gave  sad  notice  to  the  hearts  that  loved  him  of  his  fatal 
malady.  But  his  spirits  retained  their  elasticity,  and  hope 
of  returning  health  seemed  to  grow  stronger  in  his  own  breast, 
as  it  grew  fainter  in  the  hearts  of  his  friends.  He  thought 
he  should  be  better  soon,  and  thus  from  day  to  day  he  went 
about  among  the  choice  spirits  who  were  now  clustered  in 
his  native  village,  and  rejoiced  in  the  magic  change  which 
every  where  met  his  eye.  What  hours  of  delightful  con 
verse  he  enjoyed  with  those  whose  enterprise  had  given  the 
first  start  to  all  these  new  and  pleasant  scenes,  and  by  whose 
aid  he  himself  had  broken  the  chains  of  idleness  and  vice, 
and  arisen  to  respectability  and  independence. 

Jim  and  Ned  were  the  brothers  of  his  heart,  and  between 
the  three  there  was  an  interchange  of  the  most  entire  con 
fidence  ;  Sam  only  was  wanting  to  have  made  the  circle  of 
his  heart's  desire  complete. 

Through  the  influence  of  William,  Mr.  Rutherford  had 
been  induced  to  hire  a  tenement  for  the  present,  not  far  from 
the  abode  of  the  Montjoys,  until  time  should  more  clearly 
develop  what  course  he  ought  to  pursue  for  his  future 
support. 

To  the  bosom  of  this  lovely  family,  he  daily  resorted ; 
here  he  found  another  home,  and  in  their  pure  friend 
ship  he  enjoyed  a  repose  so  delicious,  that  it  seemed  to  him 
he  breathed  the  very  air  of  paradise  while  there. 

Hettie  he  often  meets,  and  treats  her  like  a  sister,  so  far 
as  she  will  allow  him,  but  he  has  said  nothing  to  her  about 


274  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

love.  Perhaps  his  heart  has  been  drawn  after  some  other 
idol,  far  away,  or  the  power  of  disease  so  deadened  his  feel 
ings  that  he  cannot  arouse  himself  to  the  effort  of  attempting 
to  gain  her  affections,  or  perhaps  he  saw — for  love  is  eagle- 
eyed — that  there  was  one  on  whom  Hettie  looked  with  just 
such  feelings  as  he  would  once  fain  have  had  her  indulge  to 
wards  him. 

Henry  Tracy  still  retained  his  situation,  and  of  course 
William  and  he  were  thrown  together  in  the  same  home ;  a 
sincere  friendship  had  commenced  between  them  ;  the  mild 
and  social  character  of  both  seemed  formed  upon  the  same 
basis  ;  although  there  was  a  vast  difference  in  their  mental 
attainments,  yet  William  had  learned  much  from  intercourse 
with  the  world,  and  could  impart  valuable  knowledge  of  men 
and  things,  in  exchange  for  the  rich  intellectual  stores  which 
Henry  had  at  his  command,  and  thus  was  his  spirit  beguiled 
from  those  dark  and  depressing  thoughts  which  often  attend 
upon  the  sinking  frame,  and  even  hasten  its  decay.  Friend 
ship  met  him  at  every  turn,  in  some  new  form,  and  her  smile 
cheered  his  sensitive  spirit,  and  kept  up  a  genial  glow,  quick 
ening  his  languid  pulse,  and  animating  him  with  unnatural 
vigor. 

He  had  been  spending  the  evening  as  usual  at  his  friends', 
the  Rutherfords,  and  was  more  engaged  in  conversation  than 
usual ;  it  was  near  the  time  for  retiring,  when  he  was  seized 
with  a  slight  turn  of  coughing ;  and  on  Mrs.  Rutherford's 
asking  if  he  felt  more  unwell,  as  she  noticed  that  he  was  un 
usually  pale — 

"I  am  in  some  pain  ;"  and  he  placed  his  hand  upon  his 
chest.  She  stepped  up  to  him,  and  found  that  the  handker 
chief  which  he  had  just  taken  from  his  mouth  was  stained 
with  blood. 

The  physician  was  immediately  called  in,  but  his  hope 
less  look,  as  he  bent  over  the  dear  youth,  gave  sad  presage 
of  what  the  end  would  be.  His  mother  and  sister  were  like 
wise  soon  with  him,  and  they  would  have  remained  and 
watched  untiringly,  night  and  day,  but  they  could  not  afford 
efficient  aid  ;  their  feelings  were  too  susceptible,  and  their  un 
controllable  grief,  it  was  feared,  would  have  an  injurious 
effect  upon  the  sufferer. 

Mrs.  Rutherford  persuaded  them  to  leave  the  care  of  him 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  275 

to  her;  and  faithfully  that  noble  woman  did  her  part  around 
that  sick  bed.  She  and  Hettie  moved  about  the  apartment 
in  that  calm  and  unobtrusive  manner  so  grateful  to  the 
weak  and  suffering.  Every  thing  was  kept  in  perfect  order, 
and  all  tokens  of  a  sick  chamber  were  removed,  save  the 
chastened  light  that  came  in  through  the  drawn  curtains,  and 
the  noiseless  tread  of  those  who  waited  upon  him.  Their 
countenances,  when  around  the  bed,  or  bending  over  it  to 
administer  some  food  or  cordial,  wore  no  gloomy  aspect,  no 
anxious  knitted  brow,  no  look  of  sadness  from  the  eye.  He 
loved  to  gaze  upon  them  both  ;  angels  they  seemed  to  him — 
attendants  from  a  better  world,  waiting  on  his  frail  body 
here,  and  soon  to  bear  his  soaring  spirit  to  the  bright  abode 
which  they  had  left.  And  when  he  talked  of  death,  and  told 
them  he  was  going  fast,  and  soon  the  struggle  would  be 
over ;  sweetly  they  would  speak  about  the  heaven  that  was  be 
yond,  of  the  pure  white  robes,  and  the  golden  harps,  and  the 
everlasting  song,  and  the  bright  meeting  they  would  have 
when  care  and  toil,  and  sin  and  death  were  passed. 

Mr.  Rutherford  was  often  by  his  side,  and  showed,  in 
every  word  and  look,  how  much  he  felt.  He  could  not 
hide  his  aching  heart  beneath  a  smile :  he  loved  too  well 
the  youthful  sufferer.  Obligations  of  the  tenderest  kind  he 
hourly  felt.  Nor  was  this  all ;  he  could  sympathize  with  him 
as  a  man  ;  how  full  of  ardent  hopes,  with  prospects  bright 
for  future  years,  and  all  earth's  winning  smiles  beaming  on 
his  path,  and  now  to  die  so  soon,  was  hard,  he  thought,  even 
though  an  angel  beckoned  him  away.  And  thus  whene'er  he 
stood  by  that  silent  bed,  and  heard  the  short,  hard  heavings 
of  his  breast,  and  saw  the  daily  inroads  of  the  king  of  ter 
rors,  making  his  marks  upon  that  face,  which  had  so  lately 
beamed  like  hope's  bright  star  upon  his  troubled  way  ;  he  felt 
like  one  who  looks  into  an  open  grave,  and  hears  the  clod 
fall  heavy  on  the  coffin-lid ;  'twas  dark,  all  dark. 

And  at  that  bed,  by  day  and  night,  whenever  he  could 
snatch  an  hour  from  his  varied  duties,  was  Henry  Tracy.  His 
friendship  had  just  begun  to  kindle  into  warmth,  when  he 
saw  that  it  must  soon  be  extinguished.  William  loved  to 
have  him  near ;  he  loved  to  hear  him  converse  about  those 
realities  which  now  alone  absorbed  his  spirit ;  and  well  did 
Henry  know  how  to  deal  out  the  precious  manna ;  so  soft  and 
clear,  in  tones  that  fell  like  music,  heavenly  music,  on  the  ear. 


276  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

He  talked  about  the  Saviour,  for,  to  Henry,  it  was  a  name  to 
quicken  every  pulse,  that  filled  his  heart  with  holy  joy  ;  and 
when  he  spoke  of  Him,  it  was  as  though  he  talked  about 
a  friend,  whose  ardent  sympathies  beat  in  unison  with  his 
own  ;  a  friend  who  loved,  who  was  now  near  at  hand,  feeling 
for  all  his  woes,  smoothing  the  dying  pillow,  nullifying  the 
sting  of  death,  and  preparing  a  triumphant  passage  for  the 
soul  into  his  own  blest  home. 

William  drank  in  his  words,  until  his  spirit  fluttered 
with  joy,  and  hastened  to  be  gone.  He  had  a  strange  plea 
sure,  too,  in '  seeing  Hettie  stand  by  the  side  of  Henry  and 
listen  to  the  music  of  his  speech,  until  her  face  would  glow 
with  the  holy  fire  it  kindled  in  his  breast ;  he  could  read  in 
her  glistening  eye,  perhaps,  what  few  others  could.  William 
loved  her  even  in  death,  and  now,  more  than  he  had  done  for 
years  past.  He  loved,  too,  Henry  Tracy.  He  was  on  the 
borders  of  the  grave,  and  privileged  to  do  what  others  might 
not  dare.  It  was  near  the  close  of  day  ;  they  both  were 
standing  by  his  side ;  Hettie  had  just  been  putting  to  his 
lips  a  gentle  stimulant,  and  then  she  passed  her  hand  across 
his  pale,  cold  forehead  with  a  sister's  tenderness.  William 
took  the  hand,  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  and  then  taking  that  of 
his  friend,  with  an  expression  of  deep  interest  beaming  from 
his  eye,  fixed  full  upon  them  both,  deliberately  placed  them 
together.  Henry  clasped  the  gift,  as  though  all  earthly 
treasures  were  within  his  grasp ;  overcome  with  emotion  ex 
cited  by  the  generous  love  of  the  friend,  just  flitting  into 
eternity,  and  the  expression  of  interest  by  one  her  heart  so 
deeply  loved,  although  in  sacred  secrecy,  she  burst  into  tears. 
Henry,  assured  that  the  hand  thus  placed  in  his,  was  also 
willingly  there,  gently  raised  and  placed  it  to  his  heart — 

"  Cherish  her ;  she  is  worthy  of  your  love,  your  deepest, 
warmest  love." 

Henry  wept  too,  and  as  he  held  that  hand,  vowed  to  Him 
in  whose  service  he  labored,  from  his  secret  heart,  to  love  and 
cherish  her  till  death. 

Short  were  the  hours  after  this  that  William  struggled 
with  the  pains  of  life ;  around  him  were  all  the  dear  ones  he 
had  on  earth  ;  there  was  no  violence  of  grief  to  trouble  his 
departing  spirit ;  hearts  were  bleeding  silently,  and  as  the 
last  breath  went  to  heaven,  a  moment  all  watched  the  still, 
sweet  sleeper,  and  looked  on  silently  while  Mr.  Rutherford 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  277 

closed  his  eyes,  and  then  sat  down  and  wept  until  their  bur 
dened  spirits  found  relief. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

DURING  all  the  period  of  Hettie's  confinement  around  the 
sick  bed  of  William  Andrews,  David  saw  nothing  of  her ;  he 
felt  satisfied  that  she  would  not  disclose  what  her  brother  had 
communicated  to  her.  The  efforts  which,  in  the  mean  time, 
he  was  to  make  for  the  recovery  of  the  lost  document,  were 
much  relaxed  by  the  interview  with  his  father,  as  related  in 
a  former  chapter.  He  saw  now  that  his  ultimate  object 
might  be  gained,  and  suffered  his  selfish  feelings  to  work 
their  hateful  purpose.  He  continued  his  attentions  to  Wil 
liam  and  his  mother,  and  did  much  to  supply  to  them  the 
absence  of  Hettie. 

Reports  are  easily  set  in  motion,  and,  as  every  one  is 
willing  to  keep  them  moving,  it  is  not  strange  that  they  spread 
so  fast.  Somehow  it  began  to  be  whispered  that  Henry 
Tracy  and  Hettie  Brown  were  engaged  to  be  married,  and 
although  no  one  had  any  license  for  saying  so,  nor  was  it  ac 
tually  the  case,  yet  so  it  was  said,  and  David  among  the  rest 
listened  to  the  story.  It  took  him  not  altogether  by  sur 
prise,  and  only  confirmed  him  in  his  purpose  to  accomplish 
the  plan  proposed  by  his  father. 

The  effort  William  had  made  to  communicate  the  terrible 
secret  which  harassed  his  mind,  enfeebled  as  it  was  by  dis 
ease,  had  nearly  proved  fatal  to  him.  The  excitement  pro 
duced  by  the  thought  of  having  the  matter  made  public, 
with  all  its  consequences  to  himself  and  others,  together 
with  the  physical  effort  he  was  obliged  to  make  in  order  to 
explain  things  fully  to  his  sister,  brought  on  a  recurrence  of 
his  unfavorable  symptoms,  and  as  soon  as  Hettie  could  be 
spared  from  the  dying  room  of  William  Andrews,  she  was 
again  at  her  mother's  home,  although  so  exhausted  in  mind 
and  body,  as  to  be  able  to  do  little  else  than  watch  by  his 
bedside. 

"  I  could  not  come  as  soon  as  I  expected,"  said  David 


278  JAMES    MONTJOY  :     OR, 


Cross  as  he  entered  the  cottage  of  the  Widow  Brown ;  "  but 
we  shall  have  time  enough  for  a  good  ride  yet." 

David  looked  very  pale,  and  his  voice  trembled  as  he 
spoke,  but  Hettie  did  not  notice  it,  for  she  was  busy  putting 
on  her  things.  She  had  made  an  engagement  with  him  that 
morning  to  take  a  ride ;  she  felt  that  she  needed  the  recrea 
tion,  and  as  she  supposed  matters  were  well  understood  be 
tween  them,  hesitated  not  in  accepting  such  an  act  of  kind 
ness. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  not  ride  far,  David,  for  it  will 
soon  be  night,  and  William  has  not  been  so  well  to-day." 

"  No,  no,  aunty,  we  shan't  go  far,  or  at  least  we  shan't 
stay  long,  for  Bony  is  in  good  spirits." 

Hettie  sprang  into  the  buggy,  and  Dave  drove  off  at  his 
usual  rapid  pace. 

The  rendezvous,  that  Cross  had  spoken  of  in  his  conver 
sation  with  his  son,  was  situated  in  the  midst  of  the  thickest 
and  least  frequented  part  of  the  pines.  It  had  once  been 
used  as  a  tavern,  in  days  before  Mr.  Cross  set  up  in  hift 
more  public  situation.  Of  late  years,  it  became  the  haunt  of 
all  who  wished  to  have  a  frolic,  as  they  called  it ; — in  other 
words,  a  low  debauch  ;  and  scenes  of  riot  were  enacted  there, 
which  even  Cross  himself  did  not  approve.  It  was  a  lone 
place,  and  far  from  any  settlement ;  of  course  no  restraint 
was  put  upon  those  who  wished  thus  to  degrade  themselves. 
It  was  also  the  chosen  place  for  their  marriage  scenes ;  these 
seldom,  if  ever,  taking  place  at  the  home  of  either  party. 
Two  old  and  miserable-looking  beings  kept  the  house,  such 
as  it  was,  and  on  occasion  of  an  assemblage,  gave  matters  up 
to  the  company,  to  do  as  they  pleased,  their  business  being 
merely  to  deal  out  plenty  of  liquor  from  behind  an  old  coun 
ter  in  one  corner  of  the  room. 

"  I  think  we  have  gone  far  enough,  David  ;  I  fear  Wil 
liam  will  begin  to  be  restless." 

"  I  am  only  going  as  far  as  the  house  you  see  yonder. 
I  must  stop  and  water  Bony,  and  as  he  is  so  restless,  if  you 
will  step  in  and  talk  a  moment  to  the  old  people,  I  will  hurry 
all  I  can,  and  then  we  will  be  home  in  less  than  no  time." 

As  they  drove  up  Hettie  knew  that  she  had  not  seen  the 
place  before ;  but  hesitated  not  to  do  as  requested,  although 
it  was  very  forbidding  in  its  appearance. 

"  You've  come  airly,"  said  the  old  hag  who  sat  just  within 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  279 

the  door,  smoking  a  short  black  pipe.  Hettie,  not  under 
standing  her  allusion,  looked  at  her  in  some  surprise,  with 
out  making  a  reply. 

"  I  say  you've  come  rather  airly ;  the  folks  aint  none  on 
'em  got  along  yet." 

"  What  folks  do  you  mean,  granny  ?" 

"  Ay,  ay,  I  see  you're  jist  like  the  rest  of  the  galls,  you 
want  to  keep  it  secret  as  long  as  you  can.  We  know  all 
about  it,  though ;  but  you're  goin'  to  have  a  smart  un ; 
Dave's  a  good  feller." 

"  Hettie.  supposing  the  old  woman  to  be  a  little  deranged, 
merely  smiled,  and  walked  into  the  room.  David  had  driven 
his  horse  away,  as  she  supposed  for  the  purpose  of  watering : 
poor  girl !  she  was  in  a  trap,  and  soon  her  light  and  happy 
spirit  would  be  writhing  in  agony. 

"  Are  you  ready,  David  ?  but  where  is  the  horse  ?"  seeing 
that  he  had  not  driven  to  the  door,  but  come  into  the  room 
where  she  was,  his  countenance  pale,  and  with  an  aspect  that 
alarmed  her.  "  Has  any  thing  happened,  David  ?  You  are 
not  well?" 

"  Come  in  the  other  room,  Hettie."  She  followed,  but  a 
strange  foreboding  of  some  evil  flashed  upon  her  mind,  and 
so  affected  her  in  her  present  debilitated  state,  that  she 
was  glad  to  avail  herself  of  a  long,  low  bench,  which  ran 
along  under  the  windows,  at  the  same  time  fixing  her  pene 
trating  eye  full  on  the  young  man.  He  took  a  seat  beside 
her,  and  turning  hisliead  from  her — 

"  I  want  to  talk  with  you,  Hettie,  on  that  subject  which 
you  and  I  have  had  up  between  us  lately." 

"  What,  David  ;  about  the  trunk  ?  have  you  heard  of  it  ?" 

"  No,  there  isn't  much  chance  of  doing  any  thing  about 
that,  just  now;  but  you  know  what  I  said  to  you  some  time 
ago,  about  our  being  married." 

"  That  I  supposed  was  all  settled,  David.  I  told  you 
frankly,  when  you  first  spoke  to  me,  that  it  could  never  be ; 
why  should  you  bring  it  up  again  ?  I  meant  what  I  said, 
and  I  feel  just  as  I  did  then." 

"  But  it  is  not  all  settled :  I  have  been  thinking  of  you 
all  my  life,  Hettie ;  and  you  know  how  intimate  we  have  been, 
and  when  I  think  of  your  marrying  some  one  else,  as  it  is 
said  you  are  going  to  do,  I  can't  stand  it,  Hettie,  no  how: 
and  there  is  no  use  of  talking  about  it." 


280  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 


"  But  you  surely  would  not  wish  to  marry  me.  if  I  did 
not  love  you,  David  ;  and  that  I  tell  you  now,  as  I  told  you 
before,  I  do  not  as  I  expect  to  love  the  man  whom  I  would 
give  my  hand  to.  You  have  been  always  very  kind  to  me, 
and  to  my  family,  and  we  all  think  much  of  you,  and  would 
do  any  thing  in  our  power  for  you,  but  on  this  subject  I  must 
beg  of  you  to  urge  me  no  further,  for  it  can  never  be." 

David  now  rose  and  stood  up  before  her.  He  took  one 
of  her  hands,  at  which  she  made  no  resistance,  but  he  felt 
that  it  was  cold  as  marble,  and  lay  in  his  grasp  like  a  lifeless 
thing.  He  saw  also  that  the  color  had  left  her  cheek,  and 
that  her  ruby  lips  were  of  a  purple  hue ;  the  eye  alone  re 
tained  its  life,  and  it  gazed  at  him  with  an  earnestness  that 
he  had  never  met  from  Hettie's  eye  before. 

"  You  must  listen  a  moment  to  me,  Hettie.  I  now  ask 
you,  once  again,  if  you  will  marry  me.  I  can  take  good  care 
of  you.  My  father  has  agreed  to  let  me  have  money  enough 
to  purchase  a  handsome  place,  and  we  will  go  away  from 
these  dreary  woods.  Your  mother  and  brother  shall  accom 
pany  us,  if  they  will,  and  our  home  shall  be  theirs.  I  have 
invited  the  folks  round,  and  the  minister  is  sent  for ;  in  a 
short  time  they  will  be  here.  I  want  you  to  consent,  and  let 
it  all  go  off  smooth :  but  consent  or  not,  Goble  shall  marry 
us  when  he  comes,  and  then  I  should  like  to  see  the  man 
that  will  separate  you  from  me." 

Hettie  was  not  prepared  for  this ;  she  knew  well  what 
were  the  strange  and  uncouth  customs  in  that  region ;  but 
little  had  she  dreamed  that  they  could  ever  be  brought  thus 
to  bear  upon  her.  A  thousand  thoughts  rushed  into  her 
mind,  of  the  most  appalling  nature.  She  feared  that  her 
conduct  towards  this  young  man  had  not  been  sufficiently 
guarded.  She  had  mistaken  his  character,  and  now  that  she 
was  in  his  power,  it  was  revealed  to  her  in  colors  too  glaring 
to  be  misunderstood.  But  her  courage  did  not  forsake  her. 
She  was  well  aware  that  resistance  would  be  of  no  avail :  she 
cast  her  thoughts  to  heaven,  and  prayed  most  earnestly  that 
(rod  would  make  a  way  for  her  out  of  this  trouble,  in  com 
parison  with  which,  death  itself  would  be  a  welcome  messen 
ger.  She  resolved  that  there  should  be  no  misunderstanding 
of  her  feelings.  She  withdrew  her  hand,  and  after  a  mo 
ment's  pause,  replied : 

"  Your  conduct,  David,  is  as  strange  as  it  is  ungenerous — 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  281 

unmanly.  You  have  deceived  me  by  coming  to  this  place  ;  you 
have  taken  me  away  from  all  help  of  friends.  I  am  a  woman, 
weak,  and  in  your  power  ;  but  I  tell  you  now  plainly,  I  de 
spise  you  for  your  meanness.  I  shall  protest  most  solemnly 
in  the  presence  of  your  pretended  minister,  that  I  will  never 
own  you  for  a  husband.  No :  I  would  sooner  suffer  the  most 
excruciating  torments,  and  die  the  bitterest  death,  than  do 
one  thing,  by  word  or  deed,  that  could  give  you  a  claim  to 
me." 

David  Cross  writhed  under  this  address  ;  but  Hettie  could 
not  have  pursued  a  course  more  likely  to  confirm  him  in  his 
purpose.  He  was  cut  to  the  heart,  and  resolved  upon  re 
venge.  He  cared  not  now  for  her  love,  she  should  be  his 
slave. 

As  evening  gathered  over  them,  groups  of  females  began 
to  gather  in  the  room  ;  and  as  she  cast  her  eye  over  them, 
not  one  countenance  did  she  recognize  as  having  ever  seen 
before.  They  were  arrayed  in  all  sorts  of  fanciful  styles ; 
their  dark  complexions  set  off  by  pink,  blue,  yellow  and 
green  dresses,  according  to  the  taste  of  the  owner.  Their 
untamed  characters  were  too  clearly  visible  in  their  rude  be 
havior  ;  and  as  they  gathered  around  the  suffering  girl,  the 
only  sense  they  manifested  of  feeling,  was  a  hard,  unmeaning 
smile,  and  a  wink  at  each  other,  signifying  that  there  was 
sport  on  hand.  In  the  outer  room  also  began  to  be  heard  the 
boisterous  laugh  of  men,  and  the  rattling  of  glasses  on  the 
counter,  mingled  with  the  harsh  sounds  of  a  violin,  scraped 
by  a  negro,  who  had  grown  gray  in  the  service,  attending 
upon  all  the  orgies  of  the  country  round.  Little  did 
Hettie,  until  that  moment,  ever  think  that  there  could  be 
grouped  within  a  few  miles  of  her  mother's  dwelling  a  scene 
so  nearly  allied  in  her  mind  to  the  doings  of  the  bottomless 
pit ;  and  as  the  merriment  increased  with  the  exciting  po 
tions  that  were  dealing  out,  her  trembling  spirit  could  only 
hang  its  hope  on  an  unseen  hand.  She  had  made  up  her 
mind  as  to  the  course  she  intended  to  pursue.  Resistance 
would  be  in  vain ;  nor  would  an  apparent  opposition  or  re 
pugnance  to  the  performance  of  the  ceremony,  avail  any 
thing.  She  should  therefore  do  as  requested,  until  the  pre 
tended  ceremony  began,  and  then  would  most  solemnly  pro 
test  against  the  violence  done  to  her,  and  warn  all  present 


282  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 


that  her  friends  would  prosecute  to  the  utmost  all  who  had  a 
hand  in  the  wickedness. 

As  the  groups  were  coming  in,  she  anxiously  looked 
among  them  for  a  face  that  she  knew ;  and  at  length  espied 
one  that  was  familiar,  dressed  in  rather  poorer  garments 
than  the  rest  :  a  young  female  whom  she  had  in  some  mea 
sure  befriended.  She  soon  caught  her  eye,  and  beckoned  to 
her— 

"  Sally,  will  you  get  me  a  drink  of  cold  water  ?"  The 
young  woman  flew  with  alacrity  to  do  her  bidding.  As  she 
came  near  with  the  cup  of  water,  Hettie  spoke  kindly  to  her, 
made  a  few  inquiries,  and  then  whispered  in  a  very  guarded 
manner  a  few  words.  The  girl  appeared  much  astonished, 
looked  full  at  Hettie,  and  then  towards  David  Cross,  who 
was  busily  engaged  at  another  part  of  the  room.  She  then 
carried  away  the  cup,  and  left  the  house. 

Inquiries  now  began  to  be  made  after  the  minister. 

"  G-oble  aint  so  hungry  for  his  job  as  he  is  sometimes ;  he 
ought  to  have  been  here  half  an  hour  ago." 

"  He's  getting  old,  Joe ;  he  can't  move  as  he  once  did. 
He'll  be  along,  though,  by  and  by — no  fear  of  Goble." 

The  old  negro,  after  a  while  being  pretty  well  warmed 
up  with  the  liquor,  kept  up  an  incessant  jingle  on  his  crazy 
instrument,  bobbing  his  old  gray  head  about,  and  occasion 
ally  stamping  violently  with  his  foot,  as  he  became  excited 
by  his  own  melody.  In  different  parts  of  the  room  a  couple 
might  be  seen  shuffling  away  rapidly  with  their  feet,  tossing 
their  arms  up  and  down  as  they  held  each  other's  hands, 
swaying  their  bodies  in  all  directions,  and  performing  all 
sorts  of  uncouth  gestures ;  until,  exhausted  by  the  exercise, 
they  would  slap  their  feet  hard  on  the  floor,  let  go  of  hands, 
swing  round,  and  with  a  loud  shout  which  was  echoed  by  an 
uproarious  laugh  throughout  the  room,  mingle  again  with 
the  crowd. 

How  long  this  scene  continued  Hettie  could  not  tell, 
nor  did  she  heed  them  much ;  her  mind  was  too  painfully 
oppressed  in  anticipation  of  what  she  might  yet  be  called  to 
suffer. 

Henry  Tracy  had  just  returned  from  a  visit  to  some  of 
his  charge,  and  was  quietly  seated  in  his  study,  when  the 
Widow  Andrews,  putting  her  head  carefully  around  the  case 
ment  of  the  open  door,  said  in  a  very  low  voice, 


I'VE      BEEN   THINKING.  283 

"  There's  two  of  the  Sheldrakes  out  here  ;  they  want  to 
see  the  minister." 

"  Two  what,  Mrs.  Andrews  ?" 

"  Sheldrakes — there's  two  on  'em,  and  they're  round  the 
corner  by  the  big  tree ;  they  won't  come  in,  but  they  say 
they  want  to  see  the  minister." 

Henry  stepped  to  the  window,  expecting  to  see  he  hardly 
knew  what ; — there  were,  indeed,  two  uncouth  looking 
figures,  but  he  recognized  them  at  once  as  inhabitants  of 
the  barrens. 

"  Are  those  two  men  the  persons  you  allude  to,  Mrs. 
Andrews  ?" 

"  Yes,  tiere  they  are — there's  two  on  'em,  they're  the 
real  Sheldrakes,  the  critters  are." 

Without  waiting  to  inquire  into  the  peculiar  meaning  of 
the  term,  he  went  out  immediately  to  them,  and  asked  in  his 
pleasant  manner, 

"  Were  you  inquiring  for  me  ?" 

"  We;s  wanting  to  see  the  minister ;  there's  a  little  job 
to  be  done  up  our  way,  and  as  the  regular  hand  is  sick  we've 
come  to  git  you." 

Henry  had  become  quite  familiar  with  these  rude  sons 
of  the  forest,  and  therefore  their  appearance  and  manners 
were  not  at  all  surprising  to  him. 

"What  kind  of  a  job  is  it  you  have  on  hand,  my 
friends  ?" 

"  Oh,  it's  a  little  weddin'  job ;  a  couple  of  young  uns 
want  hitchin  together,  and  Dave  sent  us  for  G-oble,  but  the 
old  critter's  got  the  rhumatiz,  so  he  can't  go  no  how  ;  and  as 
we  thought  it  warn't  no  matter  who  does  it,  so  as  it's  done, 
we've  come  arter  you." 

"  What  David  1  David  Cross  ?  he  is  not  going  to  be  mar 
ried,  is  l»e  ?" 

"  But  you  won't  speak  of  it,  so  if  you  will  be  about  dusk 
at  the  corner  of  the  north  road,  we'll  be  there  and  show  you 
the  way." 

"  I  will  be  there ;  but  you  must  not  lose  me  in  your 
wild  country ;"  smiling  as  he  said  it. 

"  Never  fear,  sir,  we'll  take  you  safe  and  bring  you  back 
safe,  and  there  shan't  be  a  hair  o'  your  head  hurt,  only  you 
mustn't  mind  if  the  boys  is  noisy  a  little  ;  but  when  they  see 


284  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

it  aint  Groble  that's  among  'em,  they'll  behave  more  decen- 
ter,  for  they  set  store  by  you,  minister,  all  over." 

At  the  appointed  time,  Henry  was  on  the  spot ;  a  thick 
fog  had  settled  around  as  evening  approached,  and  the  two 
guides  were  obliged  very  soon  to  light  their  pine  knots.  As 
Henry  followed  on  through  the  thick  woods,  had  it  not  been 
that  he  was  somewhat  accustomed  to  scenes  of  the  kind,  he 
might  have  felt  no  little  uneasiness,  for  the  men  were  wild- 
looking  figures ;  their  long  streaming  hair,  rude  garments, 
dark,  Indian  countenances,  together  with  the  flaming  brands, 
throwing  their  pitchy  glare  upon  the  huge  trunks  of  the 
giant  pines  through  which  they  threaded  their  way,  while  all 
beyond  the  little  circle  of  light  in  which  they  walked  was  a  wil 
derness  of  darkness  ;  the  whole  scene  required  no  little  confi 
dence  for  one  to  be  quite  at  ease.  The  men  followed  no 
beaten  road,  but  were  guided  in  their  course  by  marks  known 
only  to  themselves. 

The  sound  of  the  violin  and  the  hum  of  voices  were  at 
length  heard,  and  lights  were  seen  close  at  hand. 

"  Have  you  got  him,  Harry?" 

"Ay,  ay;  but  tell 'em  to  stop  their  noise."  And  the 
tidings  could  be  heard  flying  from  mouth  to  mouth  ;  the 
violin  ceased,  and  all  was  hushed. 

The  room  in  which  the  ceremony  was  to  be  performed, 
was  large  enough  to  contain  quite  an  assembly  ;  it  was  nearly 
filled ;  the  men  and  women  standing  promiscuously  in  a 
dense  mass,  occupied  about  two-thirds  of  the  apartment, 
leaving  a  clear  space  sufficiently  large  for  those  more  imme 
diately  connected  with  the  performance ;  within  this  stood 
a  number  of  the  younger  females  with  their  arms  locked,  and 
forming  a  complete  ring  encircling  what  were  intended  to  be 
the  bride  and  groom. 

Hettie  had  followed,  as  she  had  been  requested,  on  the 
announcement  of  the  minister's  approach  ;  but  the  excitement 
under  which  she  labored  was  so  great,  that  it  required  her 
utmost  energy  to  sustain  herself  without  assistance,  and  she 
would  have  died  before  she  would  have  sought  it  from  him 
who  stood  beside  her ;  to  have  lost  her  physical  or  mental 
powers  at  such  a  time,  she  knew  would  have  been  the  end  of 
hope  for  her.  She  stood  with  her  face  covered,  as  the  only  way 
she  could  command  herself,  and  her  agonized  spirit  poured 
out  its  terrible  necessities  to  Him,  who  she  believed  could 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  285 


alone  help  her.  As  Henry  Tracy  entered  the  room,  a  buzz 
of  astonishment  ran  through  the  assembly ;  the  circle  of  girls 
opened  and  extended  itself,  so  as  to  permit  him  to  be  im 
mediately  before  the  couple.  He  smiled  as  he  looked  at 
David  Cross,  but  casting  his  eye  quickly  to  her  who  stood 
beside  him,  the  smile  flew  away,  and  a  deadly  sickness  came 
over  him.  He  saw  not  her  face,  for  it  was  still  covered,  but 
those  raven  locks,  and  that  lovely  form  he  had  been  too  fa 
miliar  with,  not  to  recognize  at  once.  For  a  moment  he  stood 
petrified  with  amazement,  unable  to  utter  a  syllable,  or  do 
any  thing  but  gaze,  almost  with  horror,  upon  the  terrible  ap 
parition  that  had  thus  risen  before  him. 

Hearing  the  movement  around  her,  and  supposing  the 
ceremony  was  about  to  begin,  Hettie  sent  one  long,  silent 
cry  to  heaven  for  aid,  and  then  uncovered  her  face ;  had  an 
angel  from  that  bright  world  appeared  for  her  rescue,  it 
could  not  have  been  more  surprising  to  her  than  the  sight 
of  Henry  Tracy.  She  clasped  her  hands  together,  fixed  her 
eye  full  upon  him,  and  uttering  a  scream  of  delight,  flew  to 
his  arms. 

"  Oh,  save  me  !  save  me  !" 

"  Where  is  she  ?  Where  is  she  ?"  and  a  female  broke  into 
the  room.  "  Where  is  my  child  ?"  And  Henry  Tracy  laid 
the  fainting  girl  in  her  mother's  arms,  and  assisted  in  bearing 
her  from  the  room  into  the  open  air. 

When  David  Cross  saw  Henry  Tracy  enter  the  room,  ac 
companied  by  the  two  men  whom  he  had  commissioned  to 
procure  the  services  of  Mr.  Goble,  he  knew  at  once  that  his 
design  was  frustrated.  His  countenance  was  deadly  pale, 
and  he  cast  a  glance  of  fury  at  the  two  men,  but  he  durst 
not  vent  his  anger  either  in  words  or  actions,  there.  The 
mighty  spell  which  Henry's  influence  exerted,  even  in  this 
waste  region,  was  too  evident  in  the  perfect  stillness  which 
reigned  the  moment  he  entered  the  room,  and  the  looks 
of  reverence  that  beamed  from  even  those  wild  and  untamed 
countenances. 

As  Hettie  darted  from  his  side,  he  made  his  way  through 
the  crowd  to  an  end  door  of  the  building,  and  with  feelings 
which  none  might  envy,  was  soon  on  his  way  towards  his 
father's  house.  One  by  one  the  company  slunk  away,  when 
they  found  that  the  proceedings  were  at  an  end,  and  in 


286  AMES    MONTJOY ;     OR, 

silence  groped  through  the  darkness  towards  their  several 
homes. 

When  Hettie  awoke  to  consciousness.  Henry  was  bending 
over  her,  while  her  mother  sat  by  her  side,  smoothing  her 
beautiful  forehead,  and  putting  back  the  dark  locks,  which 
kept  curling  over  it. 

All  was  still ;  she  listened  for  those  terrible  sounds, 
which  had  well  nigh  driven  her  reason  from  its  throne ;  but 
no  sound  could  she  hear,  except  the  sweet  voice  of  Henry. 

"  You  feel  better,  now  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  but,  how  has  it  all  come  about?" 

"  We  must  ask  you  that,  my  dear  ?"  said  her  mother  ; 
"  it  is  all  a  mystery,  a  great  mystery  to  us." 

"  Sally  went  for  you  then,  mother  ?  I  was  fearful  it  would 
all  be  over  before  she  could  get  there." 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  and  she  is  now  sitting  with  your  brother, 
until  we  get  home." 

"  Do  let  us  go,  then,  for  I  am  so  anxious  to  get  away 
from  this  terrible  place — but  there, — what  is  that?"  and 
Hettie  darted  a  wild  glance  towards  the  door.  Henry  and 
her  mother  looked  at  each  other. 

"  There  is  nothing  here,  Hettie — no  one  beside  your  dear 
mother  and  myself." 

«  Oh— well— I  am  so  glad  !" 

Henry  said  nothing  of  his  fears ;  but  a  terrible  thought 
came  into  his  mind,  which  was  more  and  more  confirmed  by 
an  occasional  wild  glance  of  her  eye.  "  Her  mind  has  been 
injured,  or  she  is  about  to  be  visited  with  severe  illness." 

The  mother  probably  did  not  think  as  far  as  he  did, 
although  she  felt  that  there  was  need  for  immediate  de 
parture. 

"  Are  you  able  to  walk,  my  dear  ?  if  so,  we  had  better  be 
going." 

"  Oh  yes,  to  be  sure,  mother."  And  she  quickly  rose 
from  the  rude  bed  on  which  she  had  been  laid  ;  but  no 
sooner  did  she  attempt  to  stand,  than  her  trembling  limbs 
gave  way.  Henry  caught  her,  and  again  laid  her  to  rest : 
she  was  evidently  ill  already,  and  no  time  must  be  lost  in 
getting  away  from  that  miserable  abode. 

The  men,  who  had  accompanied  Henry,  were  still  in 
waiting  to  conduct  him  home.  By  their  aid,  a  litter  was 
constructed ;  and  while  the  anxious  mother  bore  the  torch 


I'VE    BEEN   THINKING.  287 

to  light  them  through  the  gloom,Henry,  with  his  two  guides, 
carried  the  suffering  girl. 

It  was  a  sad  journey  that  for  Henry  Tracy.  The  wild 
and  incoherent  remarks  which  Hettie  made,  the  deathly  pal 
lor  of  her  countenance,  and  the  quick  flashing  of  her  eye, 
which  he  discerned  as  the  light  occasionally  fell  upon  her 
features,  confirmed  his  worst  fears. 

By  his  persuasion,  the  widow  consented  that  she  should 
be  taken  to  Mr.  Rutherford's,  her  own  humble  home  offer 
ing  no  suitable  convenience  for  another  invalid. 

The  ways  of  God  appear  unequal  only  to  those  who 
judge  prematurely,  or  without  taking  into  the  account  that 
this  world  is  not  the  end.  Grod  sees  as  we  do  not :  His  de 
sign  in  all  the  dealings  of  His  judgments  and  His  mercies 
here  towards  those  who  love  Him,  is  to  make  them  trust  in 
Him,  and  cast  their  'thoughts,  too  prone  to  settle  on  this 
vale  of  tears  and  be  content  with  earth,  upwards,  towards 
that  better,  purer  home  in  heaven. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

WAR  is  a  name  that  carries  in  its  dreadful  meaning 
scenes  of  suffering  and  woe,  little  thought  of,  it  is  feared,  by 
those  who,  at  the  helm  of  power,  too  easily  proclaim  the 
deadly  feud. 

The  widow's  tear,  the  orphan's  helpless  sigh,  the  ago 
nizing  groans  of  bleeding  victims,  the  horrible  necessities 
that  wait  upon  the  contest  for  supremacy. where  man  forgets 
his  nature,  and  hastes  with  tiger-thirst  to  seek  the  life-blood 
of  his  fellow  n.an,  are  all  forgotten  or  unheeded.  A  little 
land,  not  worth  a  single  pang  of  one  fond  mother's  heart ; 
a  little  wrong  that  might  by  calm  remonstrance  be  redressed, 
or  even  borne  with,  affords  a  pretext.  The  herald  of  defi 
ance  is  sent  forth,  and  misery,  death,  and  desolation  hover 
on  his  track. 

The  event  which  Commodere  Try  sail' had  predicted,  came 
to  pass,  although  somewhat  sooner  than  either  he  or  many 
other  shrewd  calculators  had  anticipated.  The  Commodore, 


288  JAMES  MONTJOY:   OR, 


as  we  have  seen,  had  no  misgivings  of  conscience  about  the 
necessity  of  the  measure  :  he  only  wished  for  a  better  pre 
paration,  before  engaging  in  hostilities  with  the  greatest 
nation  on  the  gl<?be. 

As  to  his  own  private  interests,  a  few  months  would  have 
enabled  him  to  place  them  on  a  better  footing,  yet,  perhaps, 
he  thought  as  little  about  that  matter  as  most  men  ;  at  any 
rate,  he  took  a  very  decided  stand  for  the  government,  and 
strongly  upheld  it  in  its  declaration  of  war. 

With  Peter  he  still  held  long  private  talks  on  Peter's 
favorite  topic  ;  and  every  new  incident  of  the  war  seemed 
interesting  to  the  old  sailor,  only  as  it  in  some  way  might 
affect  the  safe  return  of  Captain  Sam.  One  morning,  as 
Peter  handed  in  the  package  of  papers  at  the  door  of  the 
office,  he  looked  very  anxiously  at  the  Commodore. 

"  There's  three  more  on  'ein  come,  your  honor  " — 

"  More  what,  Peter  ?" 

"  Of  the  blockaders,  sir, — a  brig  and  two  schooners." 

"  What  will  become  of  our  young  captain,  now,  Peter  ?" 

Peter  slipped  the  quid  to  the  other  side,  and  worked 
away  at  it  awhile  in  good  earnest. 

"  I'm  a-thinking,  your  honor,  it's  a  great  pity  he  aint  in 
a  regular  man-o'-war's  man." 

"  What  would  he  do  then,  Peter  ?" 

"  He'd  make  her  talk,  your  honor,  or  I'm  mistaken." 

"  You  don't  think  he'd  fight,  do  you?" 

"  What  for  not,  your  honor  ?" 

"  Why,  you  know  he  has  been  dodging  along  shore  here, 
Peter,  all  his  life — he  has  hardly  smelled  gunpowder." 

"  Asking  your  honor's  pardon  for  the  freedom,  but  I 
must  haul  off  from  your  honor  this  time.  Captain  Sam  may 
be  ain't  had  muck  experience  in  the  fightin'  way  as  yet ;  but 
your  honor  knows,  it's  more  what's  in  a  man  than  what  he 
larns — a  brave  man  ashore  will  be  a  brave  man  at  sea,  that 
is,  a'ter  the  sickness  is  over ;  but  if  Captain  Sam  don't  face 
an  enemy's  bullet  with  the  best  on  'em,  I'll  cut  off  my  pig 
tail  and  give  it  to  the  cats."  Peter  could  have  made  no 
stronger  asseveration ;  for  he  highly  valued  the  long  ap 
pendage  to  his  bushy  head,  and  of  all  creatures  he  hated 
cats. 

"  Do  you  think,  Peter,  if  he  had  a  good  ship  and  a  dozen 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  289 


guns  on  board,  with  a  fine  crew,  he  would  know  what  to  do 
with  them  ?" 

"  If  he  don't,  you  honor,  I'll  give  up  t'other  leg,  and  go 
upon  stumps  the  rest  of  my  days." 

"  Well,  Peter,  I  believe  you ;  and  we  think  alike  this 
time.  You  may  take  these  papers,  and  show  them  to  Lady 
Morris." 

"  Ay,  ay,  your  honor." 

And  Peter  hobbled  away,  discharging  the  old  quid  as 
soon  as  he  had  fairly  left  the  house,  and  treating  himself  to 
a  new  one,  muttering  as  he  did  so,  "  Captain  Sam  will  show 
'em — see  if  he  don't.'" 

The  Commodore,  through  the  influence  of  Peter,  had  also 
become  much  interested  in  the  Montjoys ;  all  the  story  of 
their  boyish  days  had  been  so  often  repeated  that  they 
seemed  like  old  acquaintances  ;  and  although,  for  argument's 
sake,  the  old  gentleman  would  appear  to  doubt  the  correctness 
of  Peter's  reasoning  on  the  certainty  of  their  doing  well,  yet 
he  had  great  confidence  in  the  young  firm,  and  an  earnest 
desire  for  their  prosperity. 

Old  Sam  Cutter,  too,  with  whom  the  Commodore  was 
quite  intimate,  had  not  failed  to  make  him  acquainted  with 
the  mighty  change  which  had  been  brought  about  through 
the  instrumentality  of  these  boys  in  this  place,  now  so  lovely 
in  its  appearance.  He  therefore  felt  that  they  deserved  his 
respect  as  a  citizen,  and  treated  them  with  a  consideration 
which,  for  the  disparity  in  years  and  circumstances,  was 
very  gratifying  to  them. 

He  was  therefore  a  frequent  visitor  at  their  establish 
ment — never  hindering  them  at  their  work,  if  he  found  them 
engaged ;  but  bowing  respectfully  to  the  young  men  and 
those  who  might  be  in  at  the  time,  would  walk  straight 
through  the  store  into  the  little  back  room,  which  was  always 
in  perfect  order,  and  there  seek  for  news  among  their  papers 
which  might  not  happen  to  be  in  his. 

On  this  particular  day  of  which  we  have  been  speaking, 
he  had  an  object  of  some  importance  in  his  visit ;  and  as  he 
passed  along  to  the  usual  place,  he  politely  requested  the 
favor  of  an  interview  with  the  elder  partner,  when  he  could 
be  spared  from  his  desk. 

"  In  a  short  time,  sir,  I  will  wait  upon  you,"  said  James, 

11 


290  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

taking  the  pen  from  behind  his  ear  and  making  an  entry  in 
his  book. 

That  morning,  the  brothers  had  been  spending  some  time 
in  consultation  about  business  matters.  They  had.  as  we 
have  seen,  been  very  kindly  treated  by  the  bank,  and  in  con 
sequence  were  enabled  to  keep  along  and  meet  their  difficul 
ties  ;  but  the  serious  losses  which  they  had  met,  affected 
them  much  more  than  they  at  first  anticipated.  They  had 
never  before  known  what  it  was  to  be  cramped  in  their  means 
for  doing  business,  because  they  had  only  increased  their 
transactions  as  they  found  themselves  able  to  do  so ;  but  things 
could  not  very  easily  be  brought  back  by  the  same  process — 
they  must  either  go  on,  or  suspend  altogether  ;  and  either 
alternative  involved  difficulties  of  no  ordinary  kind.  To 
continue  as  they  had,  they  must  for  years  to  come,  so  far  as 
they  could  see, ''be  constantly  devising  ways  and  means  to 
meet  engagements,  involving  anxiety,  dependence,  watchful 
ness,  and  untiring  attention :  to  suspend  their  operations, 
would  not  only  be  a  bitter  humiliation  to  their  sensitive 
spirits,  but  there  would  be  a  sacrifice  of  property  that 
might  leave  them  without  the  ability  to  pay  many  of  their 
just  debts.  There  was  also  a  difficulty  attending  their  situ 
ation,  which  troubled  them  more  than  all  else  beside.  They 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  receiving  from  many  of  their  cus 
tomers  small  sums  of  money  which  they  wished  to  secure 
against  a  time  of  need ;  the  unbounded  confidence  reposed 
in  the  young  men  brought  all  the  loose  money  of  those  in 
moderate  circumstances  into  their  hands :  they  allowed  an 
interest  for  it,  and  hitherto  had  been  able  to  return  any 
sum  when  suddenly  called  for.  The  amount  thus  accumu 
lated  was  now  about  two  thousand  dollars  ;  and  it  was  due 
in  sums  of  from  ten  to  three  hundred.  With  many  of  these 
depositors,  it  was  the  whole  of  their  possessions. 

The  idea  of  danger  from  thus  receiving  funds  had  never 
occurred  to  the  brothers,  until  they  found  by  experience  the 
difficulties  which  attended  the  raising  money  on  an  emer 
gency,  with  their  diminished  capital,  in  fact  with  no  other 
capital  than  their  credit.  But  now  they  clearly  saw  that  it 
placed  them  over  a  volcano  ;  it  might  explode  at  any  time, 
lay  their  business  and  well-earned  reputation  in  ruins  to 
gether,  and  utterly  disable  them  from  giving  back  this  money 
thus  sacredly  intrusted  to  their  keeping.  And  it  was  on 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  291 


this  particular  point  they  had  been  consulting  that  morn 
ing  ;  their  fears  were  mutually  expressed,  and  they  came  to 
the  resolution  that  they  would  involve  themselves  in  such 
difficulties  no  farther. 

As  soon  as  James  could  leave  his  desk,  he  repaired  to  the 
back-room.  After  some  pleasant  compliments  on  either  side, 
the  Commodore  straightened  himself  in  his  chair,  and  rest 
ing  one  hand  on  his  large  gold-headed  cane — 

"  I  want  to  talk  with  you  a  little,  Mr.  Montjoy,  about 
money  this  morning." 

James's  heart  beat  quick  ;  he  could  not  help  it,  for  the 
Commodore  had  placed  five  hundred  dollars  in  his  hands  a 
short  time  previous,  and  requested  him  to  keep  it  until  he 
called  for  it. 

"  I  put  five  hundred  dollars  in  your  hands  lately,  which 
I  was  to  have,  you  know,  when  I  should  call  for  it." 

"  Yes,  sir,  certainly,  by  all  means."  Poor  James !  he 
knew  not  where  it  was  to  come  from,  and  he  secretly  wished 
that  he  had  never  owned  a  dollar,  or  that  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  money. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  have  just  received  advices  from  the  city  that 
a  certain  sum  of  money,  which  I  suppose" — 

Ned  stepped  into  the  office,  and  requested  the  presence 
of  his  brother  a  moment.  The  Commodore  bade  him  go, 
by  all  means,  that  he  would  wait  his  leisure. 

The  business  for  which  James  was  required,  was  to  close 
a  very  advantageous  bargain  for  some  produce,  but  he  was 
in  no  state  of  mind  to  do  business ; — money,  ready  money, 
was  the  only  idea  he  could  cherish ;  it  clung  to  his  spirit  like 
the  nightmare  ;  he  could  neither  bargain  nor  calculate,  so 
he  waived  the  matter,  and  was  back  again  to  the  little  room  ; 
he  merely  whispered  to  Ned, 

"  The  Commodore,  I  suppose,  has  come  for  his  money." 

"What  shall  we  do?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

A's  he  entered  the  room  again,  and  sat  down — 

''  As  I  was  saying,  Mr.  Montjoy.  when  your  brother 
called  you  away,  a  certain  sum  of  money,  which  I  supposed 
had  been  invested,  I  learn  by  my  advices  to-day,  is  still 
lying  idle,  and  waiting  my  orders.  These  are  ticklish  times, 
Mr.  Montjoy,  and  they  will  be  worse  before  long.  I  am 
afraid  of  stocks  at  present,  and  have  therefore  concluded  to 


292  JAMES  MONTJOY;    OR, 

draw  for  these  funds,  and  place  them  in  your  hands  j  you  can 
use  them  to  advantage,  no  doubt." 

And  the  Commodore  took  a  long  pinch  of  snuff,  which 
had  been  for  some  time  in  waiting  between  his  thumb  and 
forefinger." 

James  felt  a  load  fall  from  his  heart,  and  for  a  moment 
was  silent. 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  for  your  kind  offer,  and  for  the  confi 
dence  reposed  in  us ;  but  before  I  can  give  you  an  answer, 
allow  me  to  confer  with  my  brother." 

The  character  of  these  two  young  men  had  never  been 
so  severely  tested  before.  An  offer,  unsolicited,  had  been 
made  to  them  of  that  which  they  stood  so  much  in  need  of, 
and  which  would  relieve  them  from  embarrassment.  Ned 
clapped  his  hands  and  rubbed  them  violently  together  in  the 
ecstasy  of  his  joy. 

"  But,  Brother  Ned,  ought  we  to  take  it  ?" 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because,  he  doubtless  supposes  that  we  are  well  off.  and 
has  no  idea  of  our  losses ;  and  I've  been  thinking  that, 
under  the  circumstances,  we  ought  not  to  touch  a  dollar 
of  it." 

"  That,  to  be  sure,  Jim ;"  —  and  Ned's  countenance 
drooped ;  he  hung  his  head,  and  began  to  kick  the  counter 
with  his  foot. 

"  We  concluded,  you  know,  Ned,  that  we  would  take  no 
more  money  in  this  way." 

"  Well,  we  had  better  stick  to  that,  let  what  will  come." 

"  How  would  it  answer  to  tell  him  just  the  situation  of 
things  with  us,  and  the  reasons  why  we  cannot  receive  it." 

"  If  you  tell  him  any  thing,  Jim,  you  had  better  tell  the 
whole." 

James's  heart  was  lighter,  because  he  had  resolved  to  act 
consistently  with  a  sense  of  duty. 

"  I  believe,  sir,  we  must  decline  your  generous  offer." 

James  saw  that  the  Commodore  seemed  surprised. 

"  We  do  this,  sir,  not  but  that  we  need  the  funds,  and  they 
would  at  the  present  moment  be  of  immense  advantage  to 
us ;  but  we  have  no  doubt,  that  you  have  made  the  offer  un 
der  the  impression  that  we  are  in  very  different  circumstances 
from  what.  I  am  sorry  to  say,  is  the  truth.  But  as  you  are 
a  man  of  business,  and  can  appreciate  our  motives  for  not 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  293 

having  made  a  general  exposition  of  our  affairs,  I  will  com 
municate  to  you  our'true  situation." 

And  James  gave  a  clear  account  of  their  course  of  busi 
ness,  from  its  commencement  to  the  time  when  such  unex 
pected  losses  at  one  stroke  swept  off  the  hard-earned  profits 
of  their  youthful  enterprise.  He  also  explained  to  him  the 
unpleasant  situation  in  which  they  felt  themselves  placed,  by 
being  made  the  depositaries  of  so  many  sums  of  money,  which 
might  be  called  for  at  any  moment,  and  especially  should 
the  least  surmise  get  abroad  unfriendly  to  their  standing. 

After  he  had  closed,  the  Commodore  took  out  his  gold 
snuff-box,  and  rapping  it  pretty  hard,  helped  himself  freely, 
and  then  very  deliberately  returned  it  to  his  pocket. 

"  Mr.  Montjoy,  what  you  tell  me  surprises  me  very  much  ; 
but  it  shall  go  no  further,  I  assure  you.  Can  you  favor  me 
with  pen  and  ink  a  moment  ?" 

He  then  drew  up  to  the  table  on  which  James  had  placed 
the  required  articles. 

"  I  believe  it  is  five  hundred  dollars  exactly  that  I  hand 
ed  you  lately  ?" 

"  Just  five  hundred,  sir." 

"  I  have  done  it,  now,"  thought  Jim  ;  "  he  is  afraid  of  us, 
and  intends  to  draw  it  out ;  but  my  duty  has  been  performed, 
let  what  will  come." 

<;  Mr.  Montjoy,  I  said  that  I  was  much  surprised  at  the 
statement  you  have  made,  but  I  cannot  say  that  I  am  sorry 
for  the  misfortune  you  have  met  with" — and  the  keen  black 
eye  of  the  Commodore  was  fixed  upon  James — he  saw  that 
his  remark  had  affected  him,  for  a  deep  blush  mantled  his 
fine  countenance — "  because,  sir,  it  affords  me  an  opportunity 
of  expressing,  as  I  could  not  otherwise  do,  my  sense  of  your 
invaluable  services  to  this  your  native  place,  and  my  appro 
bation  of  your  noble  character.  Here,  sir,  is  my  draft  for 
five  thousand  dollars,  which,  with  what  you  already  have,  I 
place  in  your  hands,  if  you  will  merely  sign  this  receipt  for 
the  amount,  payable  as  you  see  in  ten  years,  without  interest. 
Don't  say  any  thing,  my  dear  sir" — seeing  that  James  was 
about  to  say  a  great  deal — "  not  a  word,  if  you  please  ;  just 
sit  down  a  moment,  Mr.  Montjoy ;  you  say  that  it  has  been 
a  cause  of  uneasiness  to  you,  that  you  have  money  in  your 
hands  intrusted  to  you  for  keeping." 


294  JAMES   MONTJOY }     OR., 

"  We  shall  now  pay  that  off  at  once,  sir ;  I  will  not  keep 
it  another  day." 

"  You  must  do  no  such  thing,  sir.  It  is  a  great  benefit 
to  these  people  to  have  their  funds  in  the  hands  of  an  honest 
firm.  This  you  must  do ;  take  two  thousand  dollars  of  this 
money  and  invest  it  in  a  mortgage,  on  some  good  property  ; 
keep  it  as  a  resort,  in  case  of  the  worst,  and  hold  it  sacred 
for  these  deposits ;  the  balance  use  as  you  please — and  now, 
sir,  a  good  morning  to  you ;"  rising,  at  the  same  time,  and 
shaking  the  hand  of  James  very  warmly. 

"  Your  kindness,  sir — " 

"  Not  a  word,  Mr.  Montjoy,  not  a  word,  if  you  please ; 
good  morning,  and  Grod  bless  you." 

The  Commodore,  walking  through  the  store,  saluted  Ed 
ward,  who  stood  behind  the  counter,  attending  upon  custom 
ers,  with  a  very  long  face. 

As  soon  as  Ned  could  be  disengaged,  he  stepped  up  to 
his  brother,  who  was  working  away  again  at  his  books — 

"  See  here,  Ned." 

"  What  does  it  mean,  Jim  ?" 

"  It  means  that  he  has  loaned  it  to  us  for  ten  years,  free 
from  interest,  and  with  a  full  knowledge  of  our  affairs. 

Ned  was  deeply  affected  with  this  sudden  interposition  in 
their  favor ;  he  looked  full  in  his  brother's  face,  and  Jim, 
for  the  first  time  in  many  years,  saw  a  tear  in  his  brother's 
eye. 

"  I  hope  we  shall  not  forget  this." 

"  I  hope  not,  Ned." 

The  Commodore  walked  home  with  a  very  light  heart  that 
day.  He  must  have  felt  that  he  had  made  a  good  invest 
ment,  for  his  step  was  very  elastic,  and  he  gazed  upon  the 
pleasing  prospect  around  him,  and  looked  upon  the  signs  of 
thrift  that  met  his  view  on  every  side,  with  so  much  com 
placency,  that  one  would  have  supposed  he  had  a  new  in 
terest  in  it  all,  and  felt  that  he  was  a  partner  in  the  great 
concern. 

It  had  been  a  lovely  morning,  and  nature  appeared  to  be 
in  perfect  repose ;  not  a  cloud  to  dim  the  bright  sun,  nor  a 
motion  in  the  atmosphere  to  stir  even  the  leaf  of  the  aspen,  if 
there  had  been  any  just  then  to  stir,  but  it  was  not  the  sea 
son  of  leaves.  A  change,  however,  was  about  to  take  place, 
and  the  Commodore  was  sailor  enough  to  guess  that  it  was 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  295 


likely  to  be  a  violent  one.  Seeing  Peter  occupying  his  fa 
vorite  seat  (a  large  flat  rock  on  the  brow  of  the  hill  overhang 
ing  the  shore),  with  the  spy-glass  in  his  hand,  and  perhaps  a 
little  curious  to  take  a  peep  through  it  himself,  he  extended 
his  walk  to  the  edge  of  the  hill. 

"  A  sail  in  sight,  Peter  ?" 

The  old  man  hopped  down  from  his  perch,  at  the  sound 
of  the  Commodore's  voice,  hastily  clapped  a  quid  into  his 
mouth,  which  he  had  just  cut  off  for  that  very  purpose, 
doffed  his  hat  and  laid  hold  of  his  crutches,  all  which  cere 
monies  he  went  through  with  a  celerity  quite  surprising. 

"  I  was  thinking,  yonr  honor,  that  there's  goin'  to  be  foul 
weather  outside  to-night ;  them  clouds  look  squally,  and  they 
keep  growing  thicker  and  thicker." 

"  It  certainly  looks  threatening,  Peter." 

"  It  looks  very  threatening,  your  honor  ;  and  I  don't  care, 
for  one,  how  hard  it  comes,  so  it  will  only  blow  them  ugly 
black  craft  that  are  laying  off  and  on  there,  high  and  dry 
somewhere  or  another." 

"  That,  to  be  sure,  Peter ;  they  would  have  an  uneasy 
birth  of  it  in  a  heavy  gale,  where  they  now  are." 

"  They  would,  sir,  you  may  depend  on  it ;  and  I  think 
they're  a  little  uneasy  a-ready,  for  the  biggest  on  'em  have 
clawed  off  out  of  sight,  and  the  others  that  were  at  anchor, 
have  hauled  up,  and  are  starting  too.  If  your  honor  will 
look  through  the  glass,  you  can  see  all  their  movements. 
They'll  have  a  time  on  it — there,  did  you  hear  that  ?  your 
honor?" 

"  A  gun,  Peter,  and  a  heavy  one,  but  at  a  great  dis 
tance." 

"  I've  heard  several  on  'em,  your  honor,  before ;  there's 
something  to  pay,  out  there ;  they  would'nt  fire  such  metal 
as  that  for  signals." 

"  Well,  I  only  wish  they  were  out  of  the  way  for  a  few 
weeks.  Peter.  Captain  Sam  would  stand  but  a  poor  chance 
if  he  should  get  among  them." 

"  There  would  be  no  chance  at  all,  your  honor,  there's  so 
many  on  'em  ;  I  might  as  well  try  to  run  through  that  picket 
fence,  crutches  and  all ;  a.nd  as  to  fightin'  it  out,  your  honor 
knows  there's  too  much  odds  agin  one — they'd  blow  him  out 
of  water." 


296  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

"  Or  sink  him  under  it." 

"  Or  sink  him  under  it,  your  honor." 

Peter's  prophecy  respecting  the  weather  was  too  truly 
realized ;  the  heavens,  ere  the  night  shut  in.  were  covered 
with  dark  and  ragged  clouds,  chasing  each  other  like  heaving 
surges  wildly  through  the  air :  gusts  of  wind  occasionally 
swept  along,  increasing  in  violence  at  each  succeeding  blast ; 
while  in  the  distance  the  heavy  roar  of  the  ocean  told 
plainly  of  the  tumult  that  was  going  on  there,  and  what 
might  be  expected  when  the  strength  of  the  tempest  should 
break  upon  the  land.  The  fitful  gusts  at  length  settled  into 
one  long-continued,  furious  blast,  increasing  gradually  its 
terrible  power,  until  the  strongest  dwellings  rocked  and 
trembled  to  their  base,  and  even  the  stout-hearted  turned 
their  thoughts  to  Him  whose  will  the  winds  obey,  and  before 
whose  power  man  shrinks  to  nothing. 

The  family  of  Mr.  Rutherford  had  been  long  in  a  state 
of  painful  anxiety,  watching  untiringly  around  the  sick  and, 
to  all  human  probability,  the  dying  bed  of  Hettie.  The  scenes 
of  trial  which  she  had  been  passing  through  for  several  succes 
sive  months,  had  imperceptibly  weakened  her  frame ;  and 
the  terrible  ordeal  of  the  mock-marriage  proved  just  the 
stroke  too  much  for  her  to  bear.  In  the  wildest  delirium, 
her  spirit  tossed  and  agonized  for  weeks  ;  and  then,  as  her 
nature  sunk,  worn  out  with  the  wrestling  of  her  troubled 
mind,  it  required  the  nicest  care  and  most  faithful  attendance 
to  stay  up  her  feeble  tenement. 

Nothing  was  wanting,  that  love  could  minister,  for  her 
benefit ;  and  hope  again  began  to  bless  the  spirits  of  friends. 
Her  reason  was  restored,  her  strength  gradually  returned, 
and  although  confined  still  to  her  bed,  the  signs  of  recovery 
were  so  evident,  that  cheerfulness  once  more  blessed  the 
countenances  of  that  much  afflicted  but  still  happy  family. 

Hettie  had  resolved  to  keep  the  secret  with  which  she 
had  been  intrusted  by  her  brother  no  longer  than  she  could 
acquire  strength  to  reveal  it ;  and  on  this  very  day  that  we 
have  been  describing,  she  had  told  Mr.  Rutherford  all  she 
knew. 

That  evening,  while  the  tempest  was  roaring  around  his 
dwelling,  he  sat  alone  in  the  room  where  his  family  usually 
congregated,  Mrs.  Rutherford  and  the  children  having  re- 

13* 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  297 

tired  to  Hettie's  apartment,  to  give  what  cheer  they  could 
to  the  sick  room,  during  the  wild  howling  of  the  storm. 
His  thoughts,  busied  with  the  intelligence  which  had  that  day 
been  communicated  to  him,  and  agitated  between  hope  and 
fear,  were  devising  all  manner  of  plans  for  the  recovery  of 
documents  of  so  much  value,  and  the  surest  way  to  bring  the 
dangerous  men  concerned  in  the  transaction  to  justice, 
when  a  loud  knocking  against  an  outer  door  reached  his 
ear.  Thinking  it  might  be  some  benighted  stranger,  he 
hurried  to  admit  him,  as  soon  as  possible,  to  a  shelter  from 
the  peltings  of  the  pitiless  storm. 

Opening  the  door,  he  requested  the  stranger  to  hasten  in, 
not  waiting  to  inquire  who  he  was,  or  what  he  wanted .  The 
first  glance,  however,  as  he  turned  towards  his  visitor,  made 
him  regret  that  he  had  been  so  hasty ;  for  David  Cross,  with 
a  wild  and  haggard  countenance,  stood  before  him.  Mr. 
Rutherford  had  no  reason  to  think  that  his  errand  was  a 
good  one,  but  he  was  resolved  to  treat  him  with  forbearance. 
David  spoke  first — 

"  A  terrible  storm,  sir." 

"  Your  business  must  be  urgent,  Mr.  Cross,  that  drives 
you  out  through  such  a  night." 

"  It  is  urgent,  sir.  Is  Miss  Brown  in  a  condition  to  be 
seen  ?" 

"  She  is  not,  except  by  those  with  whom  she  feels  perfectly 
at  rest." 

"  I  must  see  her,  Mr.  Rutherford,  if  such  a  thing  is  pos 
sible.  I  have  done  her  great  injustice,  and  I  wish  to  make 
all  the  atonement  in  my  power.  As  you  value  the  future 
peace  of  an  unhappy  man,  I  beg  you,  sir,  to  allow  me  but  a 
moment's  interview." 

"  It  cannot  be,  Mr.  Cross  ;  your  presence  in  her  chamber 
would,  in  all  probability,  throw  her  again  into  the  same  hor 
rible  condition  from  which  she  has  but  just  recovered  :  and 
a  relapse  would  be  fatal." 

Cross  looked  away  from  Mr.  Rutherford,  and  fixed  his 
eye  on  the  door.  He  seemed  in  an  agony,  for  occasionally 
a  tremor  shook  his  whole  frame,  and  Mr.  Rutherford  thought 
he  saw  him  wipe  away  a  tear.  For  some  moments  neither 
spoke.  At  length  turning,  and  with  a  beseeching  look  ad 
dressing  Mr.  R. — 


298  JAMES    MONTJOY  J     OR, 

"  Will  you  allow  me,  sir,  to  send  a  line  to  her ;  perhaps 
she  may  wish  to  see  me." 

"  I  will,  sir,  but  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  you  will  be  per 
mitted  to  see  her,  even  if  she  consents." 

He  wrote  a  few  lines,  and  handing  it  to  Mr.  Ruther 
ford— 

"  If  she  refuses  to  see  me  after  she  has  read  that,  so  be 
it ;  but  I  will  not  then  be  to  blame  for  the  consequences 
which  may  follow." 

Hettie  read  the  little  note,  or  more  properly  it  was  read 
to  her.  It  ran  thus.  "  Hettie,  I  want  to  ask  your  forgive 
ness,  and  to  tell  you  that  I  have  discovered  the  paper.  D. 
Cross." 

"  I  think  he  had  better  come  in,"  said  Hettie  ;  "  there  is 
business  of  great  consequence,  which  it  is  in  his  power  to 
communicate." 

As  David  Cross  entered  the  room,  he  paused  a  moment 
as  his  eye  fell  upon  the  emaciated  countenance  of  the  still 
lovely  girl.  He  then  slowly  approached  the  bed,  threw  him 
self  on  his  knees,  and  wept  like  an  infant.  As  soon  as  he 
could  speak — 

"  Hettie,"  said  he,  "  can  you  forgive  me  for  my  cruel 
wrong  ?" 

"  I  have  forgiven  you  long  since,  David  ;  and  have  prayed 
that  you  may  be  forgiven  of  God." 

"  I  can  make  but  little  reparation  for  the  past ;  I  have 
done  all  I  could.  That  paper  is  in  the  hands  of  Michael 
Foster  ;  he  holds  it  to  extort  money  from  my  father.  To 
morrow  night  a  plan  is  laid  to  wrest  it  out  of  Foster's 
power,  and  then  it  will  no  doubt  be  destroyed.  Measures 
must  therefore  be  taken  in  the  course  of  to-morrow,  or  it 
will  probably  be  too  late.  Spare  my  father,  if  you  can  ;  as 
for  myself,  Hettie,  I  leave  you  now  for  ever ;  you  and  I  will 
probably  never  meet  again." 

Hettie  cast  a  look  of  kindness  at  him,  as  he  left  the 
room.  Mr.  Rutherford  had  witnessed  the  scene  at  the  bed 
side,  and  his  feelings  were  much  softened  towards  the  young 
man. 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  go  away,  while  the  tempest  rages 
thus  ?" 

"  The  storm  is  of  little  consequence  to  me,  sir.  I  have 
communicated  to  Hettie  some  things  which  concern  you 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.,  299 

deeply ;  and  all  I  have  to  say  is,  that  whatever  steps  you 
may  take  on  the  information  she  gives  you,  cannot  be  taken 
too  soon."  Saying  this,  he  left  the  house. 


CHAPTEE  XXX. 

A  CHANGE  from  terra  firma  to  the  restless  ocean  is  some 
times  pleasant,  even  for  its  novelty,  if  nothing  else — although 
none  who  try  the  experiment,  but  are  completely  satisfied, 
that  so  far  as  every  thing  connected  with  comfort  is  con 
cerned,  or  real  quiet  of  miud  or  body,  there  is  nothing  like  the 
solid  earth.  I  must,  however,  ask  my  readers  to  risk  themselves 
with  me  for  a  short  time  on  the  briny  deep,  and  perhaps  they 
will  the  more  readily  do  so,  when  I  tell  them  that  we  are  to 
be  on  board  the  good  ship  Lady  Washington,  and  under  the 
immediate  command  of  our  favorite  Captain  Sam. 

Those  who  see  our  ships  only  as  they  lie  along  side  of 
the  busy  wharves,  and  are  either  discharging  or  receiving 
their  freight,  have  but  a  poor  idea  of  the  neatness  which  the 
deck  of  a  well-regulated  vessel  presents  in  her  usual  sailing 
trim ;  it  may  be  that  our  captain  was  peculiar  about  this 
matter,  but  every  thing  was  so  snugly  stowed  away,  and 
securely  fastened,  that  to  all  appearance  nothing  would  be 
displaced  should  some  sudden  freak  of  old  ocean  roll  her 
bottom  upwards.  Her  deck  was  flush  from  stem  to  stern, 
and  the  gangway  on  each  side  as  clean  and  clear  as  a  ball 
room  ;  every  hand  on  deck  was  actively  employed  in  the 
performance  of  some  duty,  but  it  could  be  seen  that  they 
were  intent  upon  some  object  more  engrossing  than  that  in 
which  their  hands  were  busied,  for  wistful  glances  were  cast 
towards  their  young  commander,  who  was  standing  near  the 
helm,  and,  with  marks  of  anxiety  on  his  countenance,  eyeing 
through  a  glass  a  distant  speck  upon  the  ocean. 

"  Mr.  Barnum,  this  breeze  is  not  going  to  last ;  it's  a  dead 
calm  already  a  mile  to  starboard.  Hail  the  maintop ;  that 
fellow  must  be  asleep." 

The  chief  mate,  for  it  was  he  who  was  thus  addressed, 
placing  his  two  brawny  hands  so  as  to  form,  a  speaking 


300  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

trumpet,  raised  his  face  aloft  and  sent  up  a  blast  that  would 
have  aroused  no  common  slumberer. 

"  Hallo,  maintop  !" 

"Ay,  ay,  sir." 

"  What  do  you  make  her? 

"  Can't  make  her  at  all." 

At  this  reply  the  mate  sprang  into  the  shrouds  with  the 
agility  of  a  squirrel,  and  was  soon  far  up  amid  the  complicated 
rigging,  and  seizing  the  glass  from  the  one  who  had  been 
using  it,  made  a  satisfactory  examination,  and  then  tumbling 
down  as  rapidly  as  he  had  ascended,  was  again  beside  his 
captain. 

"  It  is  difficult  making  her  out,  for  she  has  got  her  three 
masts  in  one  ;  but  she  looms  large,  and  from  the  rig  should 
judge  she's  a  bull-dog,  with  at  least  two  rows  of  teeth." 

"Ship  ahoy,"  from  aloft. 

"What  quarter?" 

"  On  the  larboard  beam,  and  coming  down  with  a  spank 
ing  breeze." 

"  Ship  ahoy !" 

"  Ay,  ay,  we  see  her ;  there's  no  mistake  now,  Captain 
Oakum,  we  are  in  the  midst  of  them." 

"  Call  the  crew  aft,  Mr.  Barnum." 

Soon  every  sailor  on  board  was  standing  near  the  quar 
ter-deck,  and  with  respectful  bearing,  ready  to  hear  the  will 
of  their  captain.  He  immediately  stepped  up  before  them, 
and  casting  his  eye  over  their  hardy  and  cheerful  counte 
nances,  explained  in  a  few  brief  sentences  the  peculiarity  of 
their  situation,  and  what  he  should  require  of  them. 

"  We  are  in  the  midst  of  our  enemies ;  three  British 
frigates  are  now  in  sight  and  bearing  down  upon  us.  We  are 
bound  for  our  port,  and  shall  go  there  if  we  can ;  it  will  be 
no  child's  play,  but  I  am  exposed  to  equal  danger  with  the 
rest  of  you  ;  if  we  succeed,  a  handsome  reward  awaits  us,  and 
the  satisfaction  of  having  done  our  duty ;  if  we  are  so  un 
lucky  as  to  fall  into  their  hands,  a  British  prison  or  a  life 
cruise  in  a  man-of-war  will  be  the  game  on  the  other  side ; 
but  if  you  are  all  resolved  for  home  or  a  watery  grave,  let  me 
know  it." 

A  loud  and  hearty  huzza  burst  spontaneously  from  the 
whole  crew ;  and  at  a  signal  from  the  mate  they  tumbled  back 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  301 


to  their  quarters  with  an  alacrity  that  showed  they  were 
ready  for  any  sport  their  Captain  chose. 

A  steady  breeze  was  yet  bearing  the  vessel  along  at  a 
moderate  pace,  and  it  could  be  plainly  seen  that  two  of  the 
ships  were  becalmed,  as  they  were  fading  away  in  the  dis 
tance  ;  from  them,  therefore,  but  little  was  to  be  apprehended, 
while  the  one  on  the  larboard  beam  was  rapidly  gaining 
upon  them. 

Captain  Oakum  now  sprang  into  the  mizzen  chains,  and 
marking  with  intense  interest  the  surface  of  the  ocean,  the 
working  of  the  clouds,  and  the  situation  of  the  different 
ships — 

"Mr.  Barnum." 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir,"  and  the  mate  was  in  an  instant  by  his  side. 

"  I  think,  that  by  laying  her  course  due  north,  we  shall 
carry  the  wind  longer  with  us  and  give  them  a  wider  berth." 

The  necessary  order  was  given,  and  the  Lady  Washing 
ton  was  soon  ploughing  her  way  in  the  direction  required. 

"  The  breeze  is  going,  Captain,  that  ship  gains  on  us 
fast." 

"  I  see  she  does,  but  the  probability  is  we  shall  both  be 
becalmed  soon ;  she  won't  hold  the  wind  long  after  it  leaves 
us ;  you  had  better  have  the  boats  unshipped,  Mr.  Barnum, 
and  ready  for  launching." 

The  right  good  will  with  which  the  sailors  sprang  to 
obey  each  command,  gave  satisfactory  evidence  of  what  their 
captain  might  depend  upon  in  the  hour  of  extremity. 

He  felt  assured  that  whatever  forty  good  men  could 
do,  at  any  risk,  would  be  done,  but  the  responsibility  of  every 
movement  and  of  the  result  rested  upon  himself  alone. 
He  had  provided  his  vessel  with  a  few  guns  of  large  calibre, 
and  one  of  these  occupied  the  after  cabin  ;  it  was  a  long 
twenty-four  pounder.  A  large  port  had  been  made  for  it  in 
the  stern,  which  was,  however,  at  present  closely  fastened  ; 
four  more  of  various  sizes  were  stationed  at  different  parts 
of  the  main  deck,  and  a  plentiful  supply  of  pikes  and  cut 
lasses  was  snugly  stowed  away  in  readiness  for  a  sudden 
call.  All  these  he  thought  might  be  of  service  to  him  in  an 
emergency,  but  his  main  dependence  was  upon  the  sailing 
qualities  of  his  ship ;  he  had  tested  her  well,  and  felt  a  con 
fidence  which,  perhaps,  most  young  captains  do,  that  nothing 
could  outstrip  his  vessel  in  a  good  breeze. 


302  JAMES   MONTJOY  ]     OR, 


Although  prepared  for  the  worst,  he  had  not  heard  of 
hostilities  having  been  begun  until  nearing  home.  A  French 
brig  gave  him  the  intelligence,  and  also  that  a  blockading 
squadron  was  strictly  guarding  the  port  for  which  he  was 
bound,  part  of  which  he  had  thus  unexpectedly  encountered  ; 
and  now  the  ability  of  his  ship  and  the  skill  of  her  com 
mander  were  to  be  put  to  the  test. 

Scarcely  had  the  order  been  executed  for  unlashing  the 
boats,  when  the  sails  flapped  heavily  against  the  masts. 

"  It  has  gone  sooner  than  I  expected  ;  launch  the  boats, 
Mr.  Barnum,  and  let  them  be  manned  to  their  full  capacity ; 
if  we  can  move  the  ship  but  a  few  lengths,  it  may  serve  to 
take  us  out  of  the  reach  of  their  guns." 

With  incredible  celerity  a  row  of  boats  was  strung  ahead 
of  the  ship,  and  every  man  pulling  with  determined  energy. 

"  This  calm  aint  for  nothing,  I'm  of  opinion,  sir ;  there's 
foul  weather  brewing,  depend  on  it,"  and  the  mate  direct 
ed  the  Captain's  attention  to  the  threatening  aspect  of  the 
clouds  in  the  eastern  sky.  "  We  shall  have  something  to 
contend  with  soon,  besides  British  guns,  Captain  Oakum  ; 
that  long  streak  of  light  under  them  black  clouds,  and  those 
scuds  flying  off  and  streaking  up  so  fast,  and  spreading 
themselves  out  so,  is  no  good  sign — there'll  be  a  northeaster, 
and  a  smasher  when  it  comes." 

"  Let  it  come,  Mr.  Barnum,  any  thing  but  lying  here  and 
not  able  to  stir,  and  that  frigate  almost  ready  to  fire  into  us." 

The  only  hope,  indeed,  which  our  Captain  could  indulge, 
was  that  the  wind  might  die  away  as  suddenly  with  their 
pursuer  as  it  had  with  them  ;  but  her  sails  were  yet  well 
filled,  and  of  course  she  was  gaining  upon  them  every  mo 
ment  ;  the  slow  and  almost  imperceptible  motion  which  his 
own  ship  made  by  the  power  of  oars,  would  have  been  dis 
couraging  to  one  who  was  not  buoyed  up  with  the  conscious 
ness  of  doing  all  that  was  then  in  his  power  to  do  to  es 
cape  the  trouble  which  had  come  upon  them.  He  could  not 
control  the  winds ;  he  therefore  neither  cursed  them,  nor 
himself,  nor  the  noble  ship  that  was  bearing  down  upon 
them ;  but  he  watched  her  advance  with  great  anxiety,  and 
would  turn  his  gaze  occasionally  from  this  object  of  interest 
to  the  ominous-looking  clouds  that  were  gathering  in  heavier 
masses  every  moment — a  hurricane,  or  something  very  near 
it>  would  be  a  great  relief ;  any  thing  that  would  give  him 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  303 

a  chance  to  bear  his  much-loved  ship  out  of  the  immediate 
reach  of  her  powerful  adversary. 

"  It's  a  gone  case  with  us,  Captain  Oakum ;  her  guns  will 
soon  be  able  to  reach  us." 

"  If  she  keeps  the  breeze  much  longer.  Call  Derrick,  will 
you,  Mr.  Barnum." 

John  Derrick,  who  now  made  his  appearance  at  the  call 
of  the  mate,  held  the  title  on  board  ship  of  the  old  Man-of- 
war's-man  ;  he  was  the  only  person  of  advanced  age  among 
the  crew ;  he  was  about  fifty,  rather  taller  than  was  neces 
sary  for  a  sailor,  and  of  slender  make.  His  head  on  the 
top  was  bald,  and  the  locks  which  hung  from  the  lower  part 
were  long  and  thin ;  his  neck  and  chin  were  concealed  by 
a  thick  bushy  beard,  very  dark,  and  making  a  strong  con 
trast  with  his  pale  countenance.  Sam  had  selected  him  for 
his  skill  in  gunnery,  as  well  as  for  his  ability  as  a  saiftr ;  and 
in  an  emergency,  felt  more  confidence  in  his  opinion  fhan  in 
either  of  his  officers. 

"  Do  you  think  she  is  near  enough  to  trouble  us,  John  ?" 
and  the  Captain  looked  significantly  at  the  frigate. 

"  She  don't  think  so,  Captain  Oakum,  or  we  should  hear 
from  her ;  but  I've  been  on  the  look-out  a  little,  and  unless 
her  guns  are  carronades — ay,  ay,  she  speaks  now ;"  and  all 
at  once  a  column  of  white  smoke  belched  forth  from  her  bow 
port,  and  a  ball  clipped  the  glassy  surface  of  the  water,  pass 
ing  the  whole  length  of  the  vessel. 

"  That  tells  the  story.  Captain." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  a  gentle  hint  for  us  to  let  them  know 
who  we  are,  before  they  give  us  a  benefit ;  so  we  may  as  well 
show  them  the  stars  and  stripes,  Mr.  Barnum,  and  our  boys 
will  pull  the  better  when  they  see  them  aloft,  in  the  place  of 
that  French  gewgaw." 

A  hearty  cheer  burst  from  the  whole  crew,  as  they  saw 
their  native  standard  flying  at  the  mast-head,  and  they 
bent  themselves  to  their  oars,  until  the  boat  nearest  the  ship 
was  at  times  almost  out  of  water. 

"  Now  we  shall  take  it,  Captain  ;  she's  rounding  to ;  her 
whole  broadside  will  be  the  next  salute." 

Captain  Oakum  felt,  in  all  its  force,  the  danger  of  their 
situation  ;  in  an  instant  he  was  at  the  bow  of  his  ship. 

"  Pull  away,  boys — lay  to — every  foot  tells  now."  The 
energy  which  he  threw  into  his  voice,  as  he  gave  out  these 


304  JAMES  MONT  JOY;   OR, 

brief  directions,  added  fresh  vigor  to  their  willing  hearts,  and 
pull  away  it  was.  As  the  frigate  swayed  round,  two  guns  in 
quick  succession  sent  forth  their  messengers  of  death,  and 
evidently  intended  not  as  a  compliment,  for  the  aim  was  di 
rect,  both  striking  the  ship,  although  doing  but  little  dam 
age.  Scarce,  however,  had  they  congratulated  themselves  on 
their  escape;  when  a  volume  of  smoke  enveloped  the  deck  of 
the  frigate,  and  the  waters  were  ploughed  by  a  storm  of  bul 
lets  ;  but  one  of  them  reached  the  ship,  the  others  sinking  in 
the  deep  at  her  stern.  A  loud  shout  went  forth  from  the 
Lady  Washington,  as  it  was  now  manifest  that  she  was  be 
yond  the  reach  of  harm. 

K  Will  you  allow  me,  Captain,  just  to  give  them  a  try 
with  the  Long  Tom  ?"  said  Derrick,  stepping  up,  and  touch 
ing  his  cap  respectfully,  "just  for  the  honor  of  the  flag,  sir." 

"  Not  yet,  John  ;  we  must  save  our  fire  until  we  shall 
be  more  sure  of  our  mark.  You  shall  have  a  chance  soon, 
my  good  fellow,  for  I  see  that  they  are  manning  their  boats 
for  a  visit  to  us ; — we  must  give  them  the  best  welcome  in 
our  power. 

It  was  evident  now  that  the  time  of  trial  was  at  hand  ; 
for  two  boats,  well  manned,  were  seen  pulling  towards  them  ; 
the  sea  was  unruffled  as  a  lake,  and  nothing  to  prevent  their 
rapid  progress. 

As  Sam  did  not  intend,  under  such  circumstances,  to  give 
up  his  noble  vessel  and  her  valuable  cargo  without  a  struggle, 
each  gun  was  loaded,  the  men  were  called  in  from  the  boats, 
pikes  were  brought  out  and  laid  in  readiness,  and  each  sailor 
who  was  not  aloft  buckled  on  his  cutlass.  The  faces  of  the 
young  men  assumed  a  determined  yet  cheerful  expression, 
and  not  one  on  board  but  felt  that  the  stripes  should  fly  as 
long  as  his  arm  could  wield  a  weapon. 

The  sky,  also,  was  becoming  black  with  clouds,  and 
spreading  the  gloom  of  night  around  them  ;  and  the  long 
swell  that  occasionally  lifted  their  vessel,  told  that  already 
the  tempest  was  doing  its  work  in  the  distance  ;  every  sail 
aloft  was  taken  in  and  well  secured,  and  suitable  preparation 
made  for  the  emergency. 

''  They  are  calculating,  I  guess,  sir,  to  finish  the  job,  and 
make  a  harbor  on  board  the  Lady  Washington,  afore  the 
squall  comes  on,  or  surely  no  commander  in  his  senses  would 
send  boats  off  with  such  a  mess  as  any  one  can  see  is  brew 
ing  yonder." 


I'VE    BEEN    THINKING.  305 

"  Now,  John,  is  your  time ;  take  your  hands  and  get  all 
ready.  Don't  open  your  port  until  I  pass  you  the  word,  and 
then  make  sure  work  with  them." 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir." 

"And  down  he  tumbled,  and  the  men  allotted  to  him, 
with  as  good  will  as  though  piped  to  dinner.  As  the  boats 
neared  the  ship,  it  could  be  seen  that  the  officers  were  urg 
ing  on  to  greater  speed,  and  good  cause  had  they,  for  the 
roar  of  the  coming  tempest  had  reached  them,  and  but  an 
alternative  was  now  left ;  they  must  either  secure  their  prize 
quickly,  or  perish  amid  the  wild  waves  ; — a  return  in  their 
open  boats  to  their  own  ship  was  impossible. 

Captain  Oakum  saw  that  the  time  for  an  effort  had  ar 
rived. 

"  All  ready  below,  John  ?" 

"  All  ready,  sir." 

"  Now  is  your  time  ;  let  them  have  it. 

The  ship  trembled  as  the  engine  of  destruction  belched 
forth  its  deadly  messenger ;  the  thick  smoke  curled  up  over 
the  stern,  for  a  moment  obscuring  the  view ;  but  the  next,  a 
loud  shout  came  up  from  below,  and  was  echoed  through  the 
ship.  Captain  Oakum  almost  shuddered,  as  he  beheld  what 
execution  had  been  done,  for  the  whole  crew  of  one  of  the 
boats  was  battling  with  the  waters,  while  their  companions, 
in  the  remaining  boat,  were  using  their  utmost  exertions  to 
rescue  the  living  and  the  dying  from  the  wreck  of  the  other. 
But  there  was  not  a  moment  to  spare  to  look  at  friend  or 
foe ;  for  the  blast  of  the  tempest  came  sweeping  over  them 
in  its  might,  and  each  man  flew  to  his  post  at  the  swift  word 
of  his  commander,  and  was  prepared  to  meet  the  contest 
with  the  stormy  elements.  As  the  gale  struck  the  ship,  the 
sails  flew  out  with  a  report  like  the  sudden  burst  of  thunder, 
and  the  yielding  ship  lay  over  with  her  bulwarks  to  the 
water's  edge ;  a  moment  she  seemed  pressed  down  by  a 
weight  that  must  whelm  her  in  the  deep,  and  then,  recover 
ing  her  balance,  gracefully  she  rose  to  meet  the  adversary 
with  which  a  contest  for  her  life  was  now  to  be  maintained. 

"  They'll  get  their  deserts  now,  Captain  ;  those  men  can 
never  reach  their  ship  in  their  crowded  state." 

"  We  must  save  them,  Mr.  Barnum,  if  we  can  ;  put  your 
helm  to  lee,  and  tack  ship." 

The  gallant  vessel  bore  proudly  up  against  the  mighty 


306  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

wind ;  a  moment  she  seemed  to  waver  in  its  very  eye,  and 
then  falling  off,  and  takihg  its  power  on  her  other  beam,  bore 
swiftly  on  towards  the  enemies  who  had  so  lately  sought 
her  destruction.  As  she  dashed  along  to  windward  of  the 
boat  now  struggling  amid  the  foaming  waves,  Captain  Oakum 
seized  the  trumpet  from  his  mate,  and  hailed  them — 

"  You  can  never  reach  your  ship." 

"  Not  in  our  present  condition,"  replied  a  fine-looking 
young  officer. 

"  We  will  do  the  best  we  can  for  you ;  but  leave  your  arms 
behind." 

The  roar  of  the  tempest  forbade  any  reply ;  but  the  offi 
cer  raised  a  white  handkerchief,  and  as  the  ship  flew  by,  a 
rope  was  thrown  to  the  boat,  and  by  the  united  power  of  both 
crews,  she  was  drawn  under  the  lee  of  the  ship.  As  much 
care  as  possible  was  taken  in  removing  the  wounded  sea 
men  ;  and  Sain,  as  yet  unused  to  the  horrors  of  war,  felt  his 
heart  sicken  as  he  looked  at  the  terrible  fruit  of  his  own 
orders.  He  felt  that  there  had  been  a  necessity  for  it,  but 
would  gladly  have  relinquished  his  own  prospective  gains  by 
the  salvation  of  his  vessel,  rather  than  have  heard  one  groan 
from  the  poor  mangled  sufferers  that  now  lay  in  agony  upon 
his  deck. 

The  moment  the  young  English  officer  stepped  upon  the 
deck,  he  presented  his  sword  to  Captain  Oakum. 

"  It  is  a  singular  fortune,  sir,  that  has  made  me  your  pri 
soner  ;  but  I  cannot  mistake  the  kindness  that  has  brought 
you  to  our  rescue  in  a  time  like  this,  and  when  we  were  seek 
ing  your  injury." 

"  Retain  your  sword,  sir,  and  your  liberty,  as  well  as  that 
of  your  companion  " — a  midshipman,  who  stood  beside  the 
Lieutenant,  and  was  preparing  to  surrender  his  weapon  in  like 
manner — '•  and  of  your  crew,  I  only  ask  your  pledge  of  honor 
to  attempt  no  rescue  while  on  board  my  ship.  I  will  do  all 
I  can  for  your  safe  return,  if  we  outlive  this  storm." 

Every  thing  that  could  be  done  for  the  wounded,  was 
immediately  attended  to ;  a  brotherly  feeling  was  at  once 
established  between  the  crew  of  the  Lady  Washington  and 
their  late  enemies,  and  each  seemed  to  vie  with  the  other  in 
kind  attentions. 

Successful  thus  far  beyond  his  hopes,  our  young  captain 
now  took  a  station  by  the  helm,  and  looked  upon  the  scene, 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  307 

and  his  situation  in  reference  to  the  vessels  from  whose 
power  he  had  feared  so  much.  Far  off  in  the  southeast, 
the  frigate  from  which  he  had  so  narrowly  escaped  was  bear 
ing  away  in  an  opposite  direction  to  the  course  she  had  been 
pursuing,  and  far  enough  off  at  present  to  remove  all  appre 
hension  from  her.  In  the  west  could  be  seen  the  two  which 
had  been  becalmed,  bearing  to  the  south  and  east,  and  evi 
dently  doing  their  best  to  gain  an  offing  from  the  coast.  To 
preserve  himself  from  a  dangerous  contiguity,  he  had  two 
alternatives,  either  to  endeavor  to  force  his  way  to  the  north 
ward,  almost  an  impossibility,  as  the  wind  then  held ;  or  to 
run  before  the  gale,  and  venture,  through  the  darkness  and 
the  storm,  to  find  his  way  into  port.  He  was  perfectly  satis 
fied  that  his  reckonings  had  been  correct,  and  that  he  knew 
his  bearings  ;  although  to  point  his  bow  to  land  at  such  a  time, 
with  no  other  guide  than  his  compass  and  his  chart,  he  felt 
to  be  almost  a  desperate  undertaking.  He  resolved,  however, 
rash  as  it  appeared,  to  try  the  dreadful  hazard. 

As  he  communicated  his  determination  to  his  mate,  and 
ordered  him  to  put  the  ship  before  the  wind — 

"  It's  a  harsh  night  to  venture  on  a  lee  shore,  sir  ;  but 
your  command  shall  be  obeyed." 

The  heavy  clouds  that  rolled  in  huge  masses,  scarcely 
higher  than  the  masts  of  the  ship,  had  hastened  the  close  of 
day,  and  gave  sure  tokens  of  what  the  night  would  be.  The 
coast,  however,  had  been  clearly  seen  before  the  daylight  de 
parted,  and  soon  the  hopes  and  fears  which  by  turns  were 
triumphant  in  the  breast  of  him  on  whom  such  immense  re 
sponsibility  rested,  would  be  certain.  All  danger  from 
armed  vessels  was  now  at  an  end ;  but  his  ship  was  flying  oil 
the  wings  of  the  wind  ;  the  driving  clouds  above,  and  the 
boiling  sea  beneath  and  around  her.  A  costly  and  gallant 
vessel,  a  freight  of  immense  value,  and  a  multitude  of  human 
beings,  were  dependent  upon  the  correctness  of  his  judgment, 
and  the  determination  of  his  will. 

Onward  and  onward,  like  a  chafed  charger,  rushed  the 
proud  ship,  her  bow  at  times  nearly  buried  beneath  the 
billows  that  tumbled  before  her,  and  rolled  in  majestic  gran 
deur  by  her  sides,  or  rose  like  mountains  at  her  stern, 
threatening  to  whelm  her  in  their  deep  dark  bosom.  How 
like  an  infant's  dream  appeared  to  Sam  now  all  the  past 
experience  of  his  life :  every  care  or  sorrow  faded  into  mist 


308  JAMES   MONTJOY ;     OR, 


before  the  deep  responsibility  that  weighed  upon  his  heart. 
The  young  Lieutenant  was  not,  as  may  well  be  supposed,  an 
unconcerned  spectator  of  the  passing  scene.  He  had  been 
struck  with  admiration,  not  only  at  the  generous  conduct  of 
our  hero,  but  at  his  manly  bearing,  his  prompt  and  deter 
mined  action,  and  the  perfect  order  and  discipline  that  weie 
so  clearly  manifested  in  such  an  hour  of  trial.  He  kept  a 
strict  eye  on  the  course  of  the  ship,  and  confirmed,  much  to 
the  satisfaction  of  the  Captain,  the  correctness  of  her  bear 
ings. 

';  The  light  ought  to  be  seen,  however,  Captain,  by  this 
time — we  have  been  sailing  with  incredible  rapidity,  and 
must  be  near  the  land.  Can  nothing  be  seen  of  it  yet  ?" 

"  I  have  my  ablest  seaman  on  the  look-out,  but  we  have 
no  tidings  of  it  yet." 

Captain  Oakum  left  the  stern  of  the  ship  and  placed 
himself  near  to  the  look-out.  It  was  Derrick  whom  he  had 
especially  intrusted  with  this  important  duty,  although  every 
soul  on  board  might  have  been  included,  for  not  one  but  kept 
an  eye  ranged  towards  the  quarter  where  it  was  expected  to 
be  seen. 

"  Any  signs  of  light  yet,  John  ?" 

"  No  signs  yet,  sir ;  but  we  must  be  drawing  near  land, 
sir ;  the  roar  of  the  surf  can  be  plainly  heard." 

Scarce  had  the  sailor  uttered  the  last  sentence,  when  at 
the  top  of  his  voice  he  called  out, 

"  Light  on  the  starboard  bow,  Captain  Oakum." 

And  as  Sam  cast  his  eye  in  that  direction,  the  first  twin 
kle  of  the  beacon  met  his  view,  and  in  an  instant  he  saw  the 
imminence  of  their  danger. 

"  Helm  to  leeward  !  hard  down  !"  And  springing  to  his 
station  again  beside  the  helmsman,  he  issued  forth  his  orders 
to  the  seamen  without  waiting  to  convey  them  through  his 
mate.  With  magic  speed  the  sails  were  braced  to  meet  the 
new  position  of  the  ship,  and  take  the  gale  upon  her  beam. 
Like  a  thing  possessed  of  consciousness,  the  noble  craft,  al 
most  as  quick  as  thought,  turned  from  the  roaring  surf,  and 
threw  the  light  upon  her  other  quarter.  Hope  now  hung 
for  safety  on  the  strength  of  her  sails  and  spars.  With  all 
the  canvas  she  could  carry,  it  could  but  be  scarcely  visible 
that  she  made  headway.  The  stout  masts  bent  like  whips, 
and  the  laboring  ship  groaned  and  cracked  and  trembled  as 


I'VE   BEEN    THINKING.  309 

she  plunged  into  the  mighty  waves,  throwing  them,  through 
her  whole  length,  high  into  the  air. 

"  She'll  weather  it,  Captain :  if  she  can  hold  on  so  half 
an  hour  longer,  we  are  safe." 

The  Captain  made  no  reply  ;  that  half  hour  was  freighted 
with  consequences  of  most  heart-stirring  interest  to  him,  and 
at  no  time  had  he  felt  so  doubtful  of  what  the  end  might  be. 
His  eye  was  riveted  upon  the  beacon,  that  token  of  his  dan 
ger  and  his  safety  too.  What  thoughts  it  kindled  in  his 
bosom  !  Oft  aad  he  seen  it  in  his  boyhood's  days,  when  light 
of  heart  he  sat  with  the  dear  ones  of  his  home,  at  their  old 
cottage  door.  Is  he  again  so  near  them  ?  Is  success,  pros 
perity,  and  honor,  soon  to  be  fully  realized ;  or  disaster, 
shipwreck,  and  death  1  Slowly  the  light  recedes — the  strug 
gling  ship,  battled  fiercely  by  the  terrible  tempest,  still  forces 
her  way,  and  still  the  good  sails  and  the  bending  spars  hold 
on  and  keep  her  true. 

"  Don't  you  think  we  are  far  enough  north,  Captain,  to 
run  in  ?" 

"  Ease  her  off  slowly,  Mr.  Barnum,  a  point  or  so." 

"  She's  a  noble  creature,  sir,  few  ships  could  have  stood 
it;  but  I  believe  you've  the  luck  with  you,  Captain  Oakum." 

"  We  have  had  something  with  us  better  than  good  luck, 
Mr.  Barnum.  You  may  venture  now,  sir ;  in  with  her." 

A  loud  hurra  burst  from  the  deck  as  the  light  flew  past 
them ;  and  the  Lady  Washington,  bidding  adieu  to  the 
raging  ocean,  entered  the  comparatively  quiet  waters  of  the 
sheltered  bay. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

WHEN  clouds,  and  darkness,  and  the  driving  storm  are 
upon  us,  we  cannot  realize  that  their  power  is  but  for  a  time, 
and  they  must  give  place  to  sunshine  and  peace.  The  beau 
tiful  morning  that  succeeded  the  tempestuous  night  recorded 
in  the  last  chapter,  was  a  surprise  indeed  to  those  whose 
trembling  habitations  had  warned  them  of  its  terrible  power. 


310  JAMES    MONT  JO  Y  :     OR, 


"  It  has  been  a  hard  night,  Peter,"  said  the  Commodore, 
as  he  stepped  forth  upon  his  piazza,  and  saw  the  old  man 
busy  with  the  eye-glass,  peering  across  the  bright  waters  of 
the  bay. 

"  Indeed  it  has,  your  honor,  and  mischief  enough  done ; 
if  you  will  cast  your  eye,  sir,  along  the  south  shore,"  handing 
the  glass  to  the  Commodore  ;  "your  honor  will  see  a  sight.  It's 
my  opinion,  sir,  that  the  waters  have  cleared  themselves  of 
every  thing,  and  thrown  them  all  bodily  on  the  land." 

"  Bless  my  soul,  Peter,  what  a  scene  !  I  fear  many  lives 
have  been  sacrificed  yonder,  but  it  must  have  been  more 
terrible  still  outside.  What  is  that,  Peter  ?  a  ship  ashore  ?" 

"  It  is  a  ship,  I  believe,  your  honor,  but  she's  not  ashore, 
sir ;  there  is  nothing  much  but  her  starn  to  be  seen,  but 
being  pretty  well  acquainted  with  the  bearings  hereaway, 
you  see,  your  honor,  the  land  rises  considerable  north  of  the 
point  there,  and  the  trees  into  the  bargain,  make  quite  a  bluff 
to  look  across,  and  she  would  be  hid  entirely  before  ground 
ing  ;  the  channel  runs  near  the  shore,  your  honor,  but  she 
has  had  a  narrow  chance,  sir,  and  I  see  one  of  her  masts  is 
by  the  board." 

"  It  is  not  one  of  your  friends  the  blockaders,  I  hope, 
Peter?  .they  must  have  had  a  lively  time  of  it." 

"  If  it  had  only  sent  them  all  high  and  dry,  your  honor  ! 
but  they  are  a  wary  set,  those  English  ;  they  look  out  for 
number  one.  I  think  they  must  have  got  a  good  offing 
afore  the  worst  on  it  came ;  and  your  honor  knows  that 
wind  and  waves  aint  apt  to  hurt  a  good  ship  if  there's  no 
land  interference,  no  way ;  but  that  ship  being  there,  is  a 
puzzler  to  me,  your  honor." 

"  Well,  Peter,  let  me  have  my  letters  and  papers  in  good 
season  this  morning." 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir ;"  and  Peter  hobbled  away  towards  the 
town,  and  the  Commodore  entered  his  dwelling  with  a  good 
appetite  for  breakfast. 

He  had  just  finished  his  morning  repast,  when  Mr. 
Rutherford  entered  his  office  ;  he  met  with  a  hearty  welcome, 
for  the  two  gentlemen  had,  since  Mr.  Rutherford's  removal, 
been  on  terms  of  intimacy,  although  this  was  the  first  oc 
casion  on  which  any  subject  bordering  on  business  matters 
had  been  introduced.  Mr.  Rutherford  had  resolved  in  his 
own  mind,  during  the  night  past,  the  peculiar  circumstances 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  311 

in  which  he  was  placed,  and  the  necessity  for  prompt  and  effi 
cient  action.  He  felt  the  need  of  counsel,  and  could  think 
of  no  one  who  would  be  so  likely  to  afford  it  as  Commodore 
Trysail ;  for  this  purpose  he  had  therefore  now  come. 

It  will  not  be  necessary  for  the  information  of  the  reader, 
to  repeat  the  substance  of  his  revelation  to  the  Commodore ; 
it  was  a  story,  however,  which  excited  much  interest  in  the 
mind  of  the  old  gentleman ;  he  listened  with  profound  at 
tention  to  the  whole  recital,  and  when  it  was  finished  gave 
his  box  an  extra  rap,  and  politely  handing  it  to  Mr.  Ruther 
ford — "  It  is,  indeed,  a  singular  event,  my  dear  sir,  and 
you  are  placed  in  a  situation  that  requires  not  only  very 
prompt,  but  very  cautious  measures.  It  would  be  a  righteous 
thing,  no  doubt,  to  bring  these  men  to  justice ;  but  the  first 
hint  they  had  of  such  an  attempt  would  inevitably  lead  to 
the  destruction  of  your  papers ;  for  although  this  Mr.  Foster 
might  find  it  a  profitable  business  for  him  to  hold  them  thus, 
as  a  rod  over  his  accomplice  Cross,  yet  he  would  never  be  so 
mad  as  to  risk  the  discovery  of  them  in  his  possession  ;  they 
would  be  destroyed  forthwith,  sir.  And  as  to  bringing  them 
to  justice,  it  is  a  very  doubtful  matter,  as  it  appears  to  me. 
whether  there  is  evidence  sufficient  to  convict  either  of 
them  ;  they  are  men,  it  seems,  of  some  standing  in  society,  if 
I  am  correctly  informed — none  of  the  immediate  actors  in 
the  scene  are  living,  or  at  least  to  be  found.  The  young 
man  Brown,  who  is  very  feeble,  you  say,  can  only  testify  to 
the  intention  of  these  men ;  and  his  mother  does  not  feel 
qualified  to  swear  that  the  unhappy  man  who  made  a  dying 
avowal  of  his  guilt  in  this  matter  had  his  full  reason." 

"  It  is  all  just  as  you  say,  Commodore  Trysail,  and  the 
difficulties  of  the  case  presented  themselves  to  my  mind,  as 
I  see  they  do  to  yours." 

"  And  they  are  serious  difficulties,  Mr.  Kutherford.  The 
probabilities,  indeed,  would  be  very  much  against  these  men, 
and  the  public  generally  might  be  convinced  that  they  had 
committed  the  nefarious  crime;  yet  after  all,  a  jury  sworn  to 
judge  according  to  the  evidence  brought  before  them,  might 
not  be  able  to  convict  them."  The  Commodore  was  sud 
denly  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Peter,  in  a  state  of  ex 
citement  really  alarming ;  he  did  not  pause  as  usual  at  the 
threshold,  and  making  a  low  reverence,  present  his  packet  of 
letters  and  papers,  with  "  the  mail,  your  honor,"  but  he 


312  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 

bolted  straight  into  the  office,  crutches  and  all,  threw  his  hat 
down  on  the  floor,  took  his  quid  from  his  mouth,  and  had  like 
to  have  dashed  that  down  too  ;  but  his  senses  came  to  him  in 
season  to  prevent  such  an  enormity.,  so  he  put  it  back  again 
as  quick  as  possible.  He  was  very  much  out  of  breath,  and 
his  eyes  flashed  with  a  vividness  very  unusual.  The  Com 
modore  put  his  box  away,  and  straightening  himself  up, 
looked  at  Peter  with  great  astonishment,  to  say  the  least 
of  it. 

"  She's  come,  your  honor."  Peter  had  great  difficulty  to 
get  the  sentence  out,  his  voice  trembled  so. 

"  What  has  come,  sir?"  The  Commodore  had  evidently 
departed  from  his  usual  temper  towards  Peter. 

"  She's  come,  your  honor,  spite  of-  blockaders,  harricanes 
and  all,  God  be  praised  !" 

The  Commodore  began  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  meaning. 

"  You  do  not  pretend  to  say  that  the  ship  has  come,  the 
— the — Lady  Washington  ?"  and  the  Commodore  started  to 
his  feet  and  looked  very  fiercely  at  Peter. 

"  It's  God's  truth,  your  honor,  she's  riding  in  the  outer 
harbor ;  the  very  same  we  see'd  this  morning.  A  boat  has 
just  come  ashore,  your  honor,  and  I've  see'd  the  men,  and 
sich  doins  as  they  tell  on  you  never  heered,  sir.  Captain 
Sam's  blowed  the  British,  and  he's  got  twenty  on  'em  prison 
ers,  and  he's  give  'em  leg  bail,  and  has  run  into  port,  God 
bless  him,  with  that  northeaster  behind  him." 

After  delivering  himself,  Peter  turned  round,  and  in  two 
jumps  was  out  of  the  room,  and  stumping  it  off  at  a  round 
rate.  The  Commodore  was  somewhat  surprised  at  this  last 
movement,  and  stepping  to  the  door,  was  in  the  act  of  recall 
ing  his  excited  valet,  when  he  saw  him,  in  a  very  animated 
manner,  urging  along  a  person  dressed  in  sailor's  garb,  and 
whom  the  experienced  eye  of  the  old  commander  immediate 
ly  recognized  as  fresh  from  on  board  ship :  his  rolling,  un 
steady  gait  showed  very  clearly  that  he  had  not  yet  got  his 
land  legs  on. 

"  Here's  a  shipmate,  your  honor,"  said  Peter,  stepping 
a  little  in  front  of  his  companion,  "  that  has  a  word  to  say 
to  your  honor,  but  he  feels  backward  like." 

"  Come  in,  my  boy,  come  in ;  are  you  from  the  Lady 
Washington  ?" 

"  Just  from  aboard,  sir." 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  313 


•'  Come  in,  come  in,  my  good  fellow."  And  the  sailor 
gave  a  spring  up  the  stoop  as  though  he  was  about  to  mount 
the  shrouds,  and  taking  a  step  into  the  office,  put  his  hand 
into  his  tarred  hat,  took  forth  a  sealed  letter,  and  handed  it 
to  the  Commodore,  who  immediately  broke  the  seal  and 
read  as  follows 

COMMODORE  TRYSAIL  : 

Respected  Sir : — I  am  very  happy  to  inform  you,  that 
through  the  aid  of  Divine  Providence.  I  have  brought  the 
Lady  Washington  into  port.  To  prevent  her  driving  on  the 
beach,  was  obliged  to  cut  away  my  masts,  but  am  busy  rig 
ging  jury-masts  to  enable  us  to  reach  the  city,  as  I  do  not 
feel  it  safe  to  lie  in  the  outer  harbor,  should  the  blockading 
squadron  return  to  their  cruising  ground.  We  have  received 
otherwise  but  trifling  damage.  I  shall  do  myself  the  honor 
of  waiting  upon  you  the  moment  I  place  my  ship  in  the 
hands  of  your  consignees. 

The  bearer  of  this  will  tell  you  his  own  story.      He  has 
been   a  fine   fellow  on  board,  and  whatever  may  have  been 
his  errors  in  past  days,  seems  to  have  taken  a  new  turn. 
Your  obedient  servant, 

S.   OAKUM. 

The  Commodore,  having  run  over  the  letter,  began  to  put 
sundry  questions  to  the  sailor,  who  answered  in  a  style  that 
was  perfectly  intelligible  to  the  Commodore,  but  which  would 
have  been  to  ordinary  listeners  very  much  like  a  foreign  lan 
guage.  Our  friend  Peter  was  an  attentive  listener.  He  was 
standing  just  without  the  door,  with  his  head  bent  over,  and 
turned  one  side,  so  as  to  permit  his  left  ear  to  have  a  chance 
at  what  was  going  on.  His  long  queue  hung  down  over  his 
left  shoulder,  and  he  was  pulling  away  at  it  in  great  earnest. 
Peter  could  stand  considerable  in  the  way  of  excitement,  but 
it  is  not  in  human  nature  to  stand  every  thing.  To  hear 
such  a  glowing  description  of  the  doings  of  one  that  he  loved 
as  his  own  soul,  given  in  a  dialect  that  was  sufficient  of 
itself  to  work  up  the  mind  of  an  old  sailor ;  his  feelings 
got  the  better  of  his  judgment,  and  no  sooner  was  the  tale 
over,  than,  swinging  his  old  hat,  he  gave  three  hearty  cheers, 
and  stumped  it  away  towards  the  mansion  of  Major  Morris. 

The  Commodore  had  too  much  of  the  sailor  in  him  to  be 
14 


314  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 


surprised  at  this  outbreak  of  feeling.  He  smiled  as  he 
looked  through  the  door  and  saw  how  Peter  was  excited, 
and  then  addressing  himself  to  the  seaman — 

"  Captain  Oakum  informs  me,  my  good  fellow,  that  you 
have  something  of  consequence  to  say  to  me  on  your  own 
account." 

"  I  have,  sir,  if  you  can  spare  a  few  moments'  leisure." 

The  Commodore  then  excused  himself  to  Mr.  Ruther 
ford,  and  taking  the  man  aside  into  a  private  apartment, 
"Now,  my  good  fellow,  tell  me  your  story  without  restraint. 
I  am  an  old  sailor,  you  know,  and  have  lost  none  of  my 
feelings  for  a  shipmate  in  trouble." 

"  God  bless  you,  sir ;  but  it  is  an  ugly  story  I  have 
to  tell,  and  if  you  can  have  patience  to  hear  me  out,  you 
may  do  with  the  information  what  you  please." 

He  then  began  and  gave  a  short-hand  account  of  his  ca 
reer  ;  that  he  was  born  and  brought  up  in  a  place  called  the 
barrens,  near  by — that  he  had  gotten  into  bad  company,  and 
in  the  employ  of  a  bad  man — that  at  the  instigation  of  this 
man,  he  had  been  guilty  of  many  improper  acts,  but  that 
one  of  these,  and  the  last  one  in  which  he  had  taken  a  part, 
had  stuck  in  his  heart  like  a  dagger  from  the  moment  he  did 
it — that  he  and  his  companion,  in  order  to  escape  punish 
ment  in  case  the  crime  was  found  out,  and  to  get  away  from 
the  man  who  had  exerted  his  power  over  them  for  such 
shameful  purposes,  had  shipped  to  sea — that  his  messmate 
had  taken  sick  and  died,  and  that  his  last  hours  were  full  of 
misery  on  account  of  what  he  bad  done. 

"  I  have  therefore,  sir,  made  a  clean  breast  of  it  all  to 
Captain  Oakum,  and  I  am  on  my  way  to  see  the  man  I  once 
injured  so  much ;  but  Captain  Oakum  thought  how  as  you, 
sir,  could  tell  me  what  was  best  to  do,  and  that  I  might  let 
you  know,  sir,  just  the  whole  on  it." 

"  But  you  haven't  told  me,  yet,  my  man,  what  this  crime 
you  speak  of  was.  You  have  not  murdered  any  one,  surely  ?" 

"  God  only  knows,  sir ;  but  we  fired  a  house  while  they 
were  all  asleep ;  the  man  who  hired  us  to  do  it  wanted  a  tin 
trunk  which  stood  in  one  of  the  back  rooms.  We  waited 
round  to  have  folks  give  the  alarm,  but  it  got  well  a  burning 
afore  any  one  see  it.  An  old  nigger  then  came  and  broke 
the  door  open  with  an  axe :  the  house  was  filled  with  fire  and 
smoke.  The  old  black  fellow,  Grod  bless  him  for  a  true  heart 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  315 


as  ever  beat  in  a  human  body,  went  right  through  the  flames, 
up  the  stairs,  calling  as  loud  as  his  voice  could  scream,  '  Oh 
my  missus  and  the  children  !'  We  hurried  into  the  back 
room,  and  feeling  about  found  the  trunk,  but  we  had  like  to 
have  smothered  afore  we  got  out ;  but  that  old  fellow's  cry, 
sir,  has  rung  in  my  head  louder  than  the  loudest  noise  that 
the  wind  and  the  waves  have  made,  since  I  have  been  on  the 
ocean.  And,  sir,  I  can't  live  with  it  any  longer." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  the  man  whose  house  you  fired  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  nor  do  I  now  remember  his  name  ;  but  he  had 
a  character,  sir,  for  being  a  fine  man,  far  and  near." 

"  The  person's  name  is  Rutherford,  and  he  is  now  sitting 
in  my  office ;  the  very  gentleman  you  saw  there." 

"  The  Lord  forgive  me  !  may  I  not  see  him,  sir,  just  to 
ask  his  pardon,  and  then  let  him  do  with  me  what  he  thinks 
best  ?" 

"  You  shall  see  him ;  but  first  answer  me  : — Are  you 
willing  to  go  with  me,  and  meet  face  to  face  this  man  Cross, 
whom  you  say  instigated  this  act  ?" 

"  I  will,  sir,  only  I  hope  I  may  be  restrained  from  doing 
him  an  injury,  for  there  is  that  in  me,  when  I  think  of  the 
villain,  that  wouldn't  mind  putting  his  daylight  out,  and 
trampling  him  in  the  dust." 

"  That  would  do  no  good  now,  you  know ;  it  wouldn't 
rebuild  the  house,  nor  ease  your  conscience,  nor  reform  the 
man.  But  I  am  this  morning  endeavoring  to  devise  a  plan 
with  this  gentleman,  Mr.  Rutherford,  for  the  recovery  of  this 
very  trunk  you  have  been  speaking  about.  It  seems  that 
after  all  it  never  went  into  the  hands  of  Mr.  Gross,  but,  by 
some  strange  accident,  fell  into  possession  of  as  great  a  vil 
lain  as  he  was,  one  Michael  Foster,  who  keeps  it  as  a  rod 
over  Cross  to  force  money  from  him.  Your  presence  may 
be  of  great  consequence.  Can  your  captain  spare  you  ?" 

"  He  has  let  me  ashore  for  this  very  business,  sir.  He 
thought  may  be  I  might  be  of  some  use  to  this  Mr.  Ruther 
ford,  and  if  I  can,  Grod  knows  I  wouldn't  value  my  own  life 
a  feather,  sir." 

The  Commodore  told  the  man  to  be  seated,  and  stepping 
into  the  office,  communicated  to  Mr.  Rutherford  the  particu 
lars  he  had  just  been  made  acquainted  with. 

"  This  is  a  most  unexpected  turn  to  affairs,  Mr.  Ruther 
ford  ;  and  I  think  I  can  see  a  way  now  by  which  we  can  get 


316  JAMES  MONTJOY:   OR 


hold  of  these  papers,  and  get  rid  of  these  villains  at  the 
same  time,  if  you  will  leave  matters  to  my  management." 

"  I  will,  certainly,  sir,  and  feel  deeply  " — 

"  Say  nothing  about  that,  if  you  please.  I  will  call  for 
you  in  about  an  hour  with  my  carriage.  But  first  will  you 
see  this  poor  fellow,  and  set  him  at  rest  if  you  can  ?" 

So  saying,  he  led  Mr.  Rutherford  into  the  adjoining 
room.  The  man  was  still  seated,  but  was  evidently  in  much 
agitation,  for  his  countenance  wore  a  deathlike  expression, 
and  he  trembled  violently. 

"  Did  you  wish  to  speak  with  me  ?"  said  Mr.  Rutherford, 
stepping  up  to  him ;  "  you  seem  to  be  ill." 

"  My  body  is  well  enough,  sir ;  although  I  can't  tell  why 
it  is  in  such  an  ague  now.  I  never  trembled  before  through 
all  the  dangers  I  have  been  in ;  but  my  mind  is  in  a  sad 
case,  sir ; — you  see  before  you  one  of  the  men  who  burnt 
your  beautiful  house ;"  and  the  rough  sailor  burst  into  tears. 

"  Do  you  truly  regret  having  thus  injured  one  who  never 
did  you  any  harm  ?" 

"  God  knows  I  do ;  but  tell  me  one  thing,  sir,  was  any 
of  your  family" — 

"  Burned  with  the  dwelling,  you  were  going  to  say  ; — no, 
thank  God  and  the  faithfulness  of  my  good  old  negro,  they 
were  not  injured." 

"  Thank  Gfod  it  is  so,  sir ;  and  oh  that  my  old  messmate 
could  have  known  this  before  he  left  the  world ! — he  died, 
sir,  howling  like  a  raving  man — '  that  he  was  a  murderer  !'  " 

The  Commodore  now  took  Mr.  Rutherford  aside,  and 
making  some  further  arrangements  for  the  accomplishment 
of  his  plan,  the  latter  gentleman  departed,  and  Commodore 
Trysail  ordered  his  carriage  to  be  in  immediate  readiness. 

In  about  two  hours  after  this  interview,  every  thing  had 
been  completed,  and  the  party  selected  for  the  occasion  was 
entering  the  barrens,  and  Joe,  the  Commodore's  coachman, 
was  urging  on  his  horses  at  a  very  unusual  speed,  and  one 
which  the  heavy  fat  beasts  did  not  seem  to  relish. 

It  consisted  of  Commodore  Trysail,  Mr.  Rutherford, 
James  Montjoy,  and  the  sailor.  The  carriage  stopped  at  the 
Widow  Brown's,  and  some  time  was  spent  in  a  very  par 
ticular  conversation  with  the  widow  and  her  son,  and  then  off 
again  to  the  north,  at  the  same  rapid  rate. 

"  Hold  up  a  little,  Joe,  before  you  reach  the  tavern ;  and 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  317 


you  may  stop  at  Cross's,  and  let  them  blow  awhile.  It  will 
not  be  best  for  us  to  appear  to  be  in  haste."  This  latter 
sentence  was  intended  by  the  Commodore  for  the  company 
seated  with  him. 

As  the  carriage  drove  up  to  the  long  low  tavern,  the 
Commodore  and  James  Montjoy  alighted;  and  as  they 
stepped  upon  the  piazza,  Mr.  Cross  met  them  with  a  polite 
bow,  and  welcomed  them  to  his  premises. 

Mr.  Cross  had,  for  a  long  time,  been  anxious  to  get  into 
the  good  graces  of  both  these  gentlemen  ;  for,  when  he  found 
that  he  could  not  destroy  the  young  firm,  he  was  desirous  of 
their  good-will,  that  he  might  the  better  make  sales  through 
them  of  his  wood  and  timber ;  and  the  Commodore  being 
so  distinguished  a  personage,  that  a  nod  from  him  in  any 
public  place  would  be  no  small  consideration  for  a  man  of 
Mr.  Cross's  standing. 

Chairs  and  benches  were  immediately  presented  for  their 
acceptance,  but  as  politely  declined. 

"Mr.  Montjoy  and  I  have  a  little  matter  of  business  to 
talk  with  you  about  this  morning,  Mr.  Cross,  and  would  wish 
to  see  you  in  private." 

"  By  all  means,  gentlemen  ;"  and  the  little  fat  man  led 
them  into  a  small  back  room,  and  carrying  chairs  with  him, 
even  against  the  protest  of  his  visitors,  placed  them  with 
much  care,  as  to  position,  and  then  closed  the  door. 

"  Since  you  have  taken  the  trouble,  Mr.  Cross,  to  bring 
us  seats,  I  suppose  we  may  as  well  use  them,"  said  the  Com 
modore,  taking  up  his  chair,  and  placing  it  as  if  by  accident 
near  the  door.  Cross  saw  the  movement,  and  from  the  sud 
den  flush  that  deepened  the  purple  hue  of  his  face,  appeared 
to  feel  that,  at  least,  it  was  a  singular  one.  He  however 
took  the  stool  which  he  had  brought  for  himself,  and  placing 
it  at  a  respectful  distance,  sat  down  in  a  composed  manner, 
tilting  it  back  so  as  to  balance  himself  on  two  of  its  legs, 
and  resting  his  hands  one  on  each  of  his  knees,  as  they  were 
spread  out,  the  better  to  maintain  his  position. 

"  Mr.  Cross,"  said  the  Commodore,  "  when  we  have  busi 
ness  on  band,  the  fewer  words  by  way  of  introduction  the 
better.  I  have  a  serious  charge  to  make  against  you  this 
morning,  and  therefore  it  is  that  1  have  chosen  to  see  you 
alone." 

Cross  immediately  dropped  his  stool  on  its  four  legs,  and 


318  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 


straightening  up  to  make  the  most  of  himself:  "  If  we  are 
to  be  alone,  sir,  why  have  you  brought  company  with  you  ?" 
looking  significantly  at  young  Montjoy. 

"  To  set  your  mind  at  rest  on  that  head,  Mr  Cross,  I  will 
tell  you  that  Mr.  Montjoy  has,  at  my  request,  been  deputized 
by  the  Sheriff,  and  acts  at  present  as  an  officer." 

Cross  did  not  turn  pale,  for  that  could  not  well  be,  but 
his  countenance  assumed  a  livid  hue,  and  he  immediately 
rose  to  his  feet. 

"  You  may  as  well  be  seated.  Mr.  Cross ;  this  business 
has  been  committed  to  me,  and  it  must  go  forward,  sir  ;  but 
I  have  no  disposition  to  treat  you  with  harshness — sit  down, 
Mr.  Cross." 

Mr.  Cross  sat  down  ;  there  was  something  in  the  decided 
tones  of  the  Commodore's  voice  that  carried  with  them  the 
idea  of  implicit  obedience. 

"  Without  alluding  to  the  serious  crime  which  I  have  it 
in  my  power  to  substantiate  against  you,  I  at  once  propose 
to  you.  Mr.  Cross,  that  if  you  deliver  up  to  me  the  papers 
which  were  taken  from  Mr.  Rutherford's  house  by  the  men 
employed  by  you  for  that  purpose,  and  at  the  same  time  make 
a  quit-claim  to  your  son  David  of  all  your  real  estate,  you 
may  then  have  twenty-four  hours  to  make  what  other  arrange 
ments  you  please  in  this  vicinity,  and  nothing  shall  be  re 
vealed  until  the  expiration  of  that  time  ;  otherwise  I  shall 
immediately  have  you  arrested  for  robbery  and  arson.  I 
give  you  ten  minutes  in  which  to  make  your  choice." 

'•  It  is  a  false  charge,  sir  ;  the  whole  of  it  is  a  falsehood, 
started  by  that  old  idiot  the  Widow  Brown  and  her  son ;  and 
I  intend  they  shall  smart  well  for  it — that  they  shall,  sir." 

The  Commodore  then  gave  a  signal  to  James  Montjoy, 
who  left  the  room,  and  turning  himself  to  Mr.  Cross,  "  It  is 
a  solemn  thing  for  you,  sir,  to  violate  the  precepts  of  the  Al 
mighty,  for  sooner  or  later,  the  hour  of  just  retribution  over 
takes  the  delinquent.  I  am  not  sitting  in  judgment  over 
you,  Mr.  Cross ;  but  I  cannot  shut  my  eyes  against  the 
marked  tokens  of  an  overruling  Providence,  that  have  been 
exhibited  in  bringing  to  light  what  you  supposed  was  be 
yond  the  reach  of  detection." 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Mr.  Rutherford,  fol 
lowed  by  James  Montjoy  and  the  sailor,  entered  the  room. 
Cross  looked  at  them  with  intense  anxiety,  until  his  eye  fell 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  319 


on  the  latter  ; — he  started  as  though  pierced  by  a  ball,  and 
then  stood  transfixed  with  amazement,  until  gradually  he 
settled  down  into  his  seat,  and  stared  wildly  on  the  floor. 

"  Your  ten  minutes  has  about  expired,  Mr.  Cross  ;  what 
do  you  decide  ?" 

"  I  am  at  your  mercy,  gentlemen,  do  what  you  think 
proper.  As  to  the  papers,  they  are  not  in  my  hands,  nor 
ever  have  been." 

"  We  know  that,  Mr.  Cross  ;  but  as  you  were  intending 
to  take  possession  of  them  this  evening,  you  cannot  be  very 
ignorant  where  they  are  to  be  found." 

"Who  told  you  that?" 

"  It  is  sufficient,  sir,  that  we  know  the  fact.  As  I  have 
just  said  to  you,  the  searching  eye  of  the  Almighty  has  been 
upon  you  through  all  the  windings  of  your  crooked  way,  and 
has  brought  out  all  your  sin.  The  wretched  beings  who 
have  been  dependent  upon  you  as  hirelings,  and  whom  you 
have  ground  to  the  dust,  and  trained  for  your  wicked  pur 
poses  ;  the  woman  who  has  been  in  reality  your  lawful  wife, 
although  not  known  nor  acknowledged  by  you  as  such,  the 
mother  of  your  only  child,  yet  treated  by  you  as  the  off- 
scouring  of  the  earth  ;  the  son  who,  by  your  instigation,  had 
like  to  have  been  the  ruin  of  a  lovely  girl ;  all  are  ready  to 
testify  against  you.  Under  such  circumstances,  Mr.  Cross, 
the  mercy  offered  you  is  very  tender,  in  contrast  with  your 
iniquity." 

Cross  was  now  indeed  sensible  that  his  hour  of  trial  had 
come :  large  drops  of  sweat  stood  upon  his  forehead,  and  he 
trembled  like  a  reed  in  the  tempest. 

"  Michael  Foster  has  the  papers  in  his  possession  ;  but 
you  must  take  him  by  surprise  and  watch  him  close,  for  if  he 
suspects  what  you  want,  they  will  be  destroyed  before  you 
can  help  yourselves." 

"  He  is  a  justice  of  the  peace,  I  understand,  Mr.~  Cross?" 

«  Yes." 

"  You  will  please  go  with  us,  then,  sir ;  you  can  execute 
the  deed  there,  which  you  know  was  one  of  the  terms  I 
stated  to  you.  You  have  one  made  out,  have  you  not,  Mr. 
Rutherford  ?" 

"  I  have,  sir." 

The  Commodore,  without  further  remark,  signified  his 
wish  to  be  on  the  way :  and  soon  Mr.  Cross  was  seated  on 


320  JAMES    MONTJOY  '.     OR, 


an  easy  cushion  in  a  fine  carriage,  and  with  such  company 
as  he  never  had  the  honor  of  riding  with  before ;  but  I  pre 
sume  it  was  a  matter  of  secret  rejoicing  with  him  that  the 
journey  would  be  a  short  one — the  soft  seat  and  the  good 
company  were  thorns  and  fire  to  him. 

Commodore  Trysail  alone  left  the  carriage,  and  as  Mr. 
Foster  opened  his  door,  entered  without  waiting  for  any 
ceremony. 

"  Mr.  Foster,  I  presume,  sir  ?" 

"  At  your  service,  sir,"  making  a  low  bow  to  the  Com 
modore. 

"  You  are  a  justice  of  the  peace  ?" 

"  I  am,  sir." 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  Commodore — calling  to  those  in 
the  carriage — "  the  Esquire  is  at  home — you  can  come  in." 

Mr.  Foster  began  to  be  much  surprised,  not  only  at  the 
peculiar  manner  of  his  visitor  in  his  own  abrupt  entrance, 
but  at  calling,  without  leave,  a  coach-load  of  folks  to  follow : 
his  looks  however  manifested  something  more  than  surprise, 
when  he  found  himself  honored  with  the  presence  of  those 
who  now  entered  his  apartment. 

"  Mr.  Rutherford,  that  deed,  if  you  please."  The  tones 
of  the  Commodore's  voice  assumed  a  harshness  very  unusual 
with  him  of  late  years ;  his  keen  eye  had  penetrated  into 
the  character  of  the  man  he  had  now  to  deal  with.  "  Mr. 
Cross  wishes  you,  sir,"  addressing  Foster,  "  to  witness  his 
signature,  and  take  an  acknowledgment  of  his  free  act  and 
deed." 

Foster  bowed  again,  and  without  reply  handed  the  pen 
and  ink  to  neighbor  Cross.  He  then  sat  down  and  wrote 
very  rapidly,  although  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  conceal 
the  agitation  which  his  nerves  suffered. 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Foster,"  said  the  Commodore,  "  this 
matter  being  through  with,  and  Mr.  Cross's  business  settled, 
your  turn  comes  next."  Foster's  jaws,  as  we  have  seen, 
were  rather  long  and  flabby  at  best ;  but  as  he  dropped  his 
chin  and  drew  up  his  eyebrows  in  the  surprise  that  came 
over  him  as  the  Commodore  turned  upon  him  his  keen, 
searching  eye,  he  made  up,  altogether,  an  expression  rather 
wobegone.  "  You  have  had  in  your  possession  for  some 
time,  Mr.  Foster,  a  small  trunk  of  papers,  of  but  little  value 
to  yourself,  except  as  you  have  held  them  for  the  especial 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  321 

benefit  of  your  friend,  Mr.  Cross,  here  :  but  as  he  has  wisely 
chosen  to  give  up  doing  business  in  these  parts,  they  can  be 
of  no  further  use  either  to  him  or  to  you ;  and  as  we  have 
abundant  proof  of  the  guilt  and  villainy  of  you  both,  we  shall 
therefore  give  you  an  equal  chance,  provided  you  immedi 
ately  surrender  those  papers.  Twenty-four  hours,  sir,  you 
may  have  in  order  to  settle  up  your  business  in  this  region ; 
if,  after  the  expiration  of  that  time,  you  are  seen  in  this 
vicinity,  I  pledge  you  my  word,  which  has  never  been  broken 
yet,  that  you  shall  be  arrested  as  an  accomplice  in  the  crimes 
of  robbery  and  arson." 

Foster  cast  his  eye  at  the  downcast  countenance  of  Cross, 
and  read  too  plainly  in  that  the  sad  situation  in  which  their 
affairs  were  placed.  Evasion  would  do  nothing  for  his  bene 
fit  in  this  case ;  he  therefore,  without  making  the  least  reply, 
walked  to  a  closet  which  opened  into  the  side  of  the  large 
chimney,  unlocked  it,  and  began  taking  out  sundry  old 
boxes,  bottles,  paper  bundles,  &c. ;  these  he  placed  upon  the 
floor,  until  the  whole  cupboard  was  emptied.  He  then  de 
liberately  took  from  his  pocket  another  key,  and  applying  it 
to  the  back  of  his  cupboard,  opened  another  door  there  ;  and 
thrusting  his  long  arm  into  the  hole,  brought  forth  the  long- 
lost  trunk. 

"  What  consummate  villainy !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Rutherford, 
as  he  at  once  took  possession  of  his  property. 

"  Open  it  at  once,  sir,"  said  the  Commodore,  "  and  see 
that  every  thing  is  right ;  for  if  but  one  paper  is  missing, 
they  shall  both  swing  for  it  yet." 

But  the  papers  were  all  correct,  and  both  Foster  and 
Cross  felt  in  no  small  degree  relieved,  even  with  the  condi 
tions  then  laid  upon  them,  when  the  party  which  had  thus 
made  each  of  them  such  an  unexpected  visit  was  again 
riding  away.  And  here  we  very  willingly,  both  for  ourselves 
and  our  readers,  take  leave  of  these  two  characters :  they 
suddenly  disappeared — no  one,  excepting  those  in  the  secret, 
understanding  why  ;  they  have  been  blots  upon  the  scene  of 
our  story,  and  we  bid  adieu  to  them  with  pleasure. 


322  JAMES   MONTJOY  |     OR, 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THERE  are  spots  in  life,  like  bright  days  in  the  year, 
when  all  above,  around,  and  beneath,  is  so  full  of  beauty, 
that  the  spirit  bathes  in  the  luxurious  scene  almost  to 
weariness. 

Such  a  spot,  to  Sam,  was  the  day  of  his  return  to  his 
native  village.  The  cordial  welcome  of  the  good  old  Com 
modore,  testifying  his  hearty  approbation  of  his  gallant 
conduct,  by  a  commission  that  at  once  established  his  inde 
pendence  ;  the  warm  embrace  of  friends  who  had  grown  up 
with  him  from  boyhood,  and  who  exulted  in  his  enviable 
prosperity  ;  the  respectful  consideration  that  was  meted  out 
to  him  on  all  sides ;  and  above  all,  the  flow  of  ardent  and 
almost  overpowering  affection  that  met  him  in  that  home, 
where  parents  and  sisters  poured  out  into  his  own  burning 
bosom  the  bursting  fulness  of  their  hearts — affection,  re 
spect,  honor,  and  independence,  all  in  one  united  band,  wait 
ing  upon  him,  and  doing  all  that  in  them  lay,  to  make  this 
hour  of  his  life  bright  and  happy. 

The  meeting  between  Sam  and  the  family  of  Major  (now 
General)  Morris,  was  all  that  he  could  have  asked  His  old 
and  first  friend,  the  General,  was  at  a  distant  part  of  the 
country,  engaged  in  active  service  ;  but  Lady  Morris  greeted 
him  with  the  warmth  of  a  mother,  and  Susan,  that  once  re 
tiring  and  bashful  maiden — a  glance  of  whose  eye  filled  the 
heart  of  the  little  sailor-boy  with  rapture,  who  had  refused 
bright  offers  and  turned  away  from  many  an  ardent  lover — 
met  our  hero  with  a  manner  so  cordial  and  with  all  the 
friendship  of  her  heart  unmasked,  that  he  could  doubt  no 
longer  of  the  pure  bliss  that  awaited  him. 

Peter  was  almost  beside  himself  with  joy.  and  kept  his 
crutches  going  from  morning  till  night,  cutting  off  immense 
slices  from  his  bundle  of  <:  pig-tail,"  and  stowing  them  away 
two  at  a  time,  talking  to  every  one  he  met,  telling  most  in 
credible  stories,  and  sometimes,  when  he  thought  he  could 
do  it  without  being  heard,  huzzaing,  as  though  to  let  off 
superfluous  steam. 

The  Commodore,  however,  before  the  close  of  the  day, 
damped  his  ardor  for  a  few  moments,  by  bringing  a  serious 
charge  against  his  favorite. 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.         '  323 

"  It  is  all  well,  Peter.  To  be  sure,  Captain  Sam  has 
shown  himself  a  man,  but  what  do  you  think  about  his  let 
ting  prisoners  slip  out  of  his  hands  in  that  way  ?" 

"  In  what  way,  your  honor  ?" 

"  By  letting  them  go,  and  giving  them  one  of  the  ship's 
best  boats ;  and  finding  them  with  compass  and  stores  and 
every  thing,  so  that  they  might  put  off  to  sea  and  hunt  up 
their  squadron — that  looks  too  much  like  comforting  the 
enemy,  Peter." 

"  Pardon  me,  your  honor,  if  I  can't  agree  with  your 
honor  this  time.  Captain  Sam  had  good  warrant  for  what 
he  did." 

"  G-ood  warrant,  Peter — from  whom  ?" 

"  I  heered  our  minister — Grod  bless  him — on  the  last  Sab 
bath,  and  your  honor  must  have  heered  him  too,  say — and 
he  took  it  from  the  good  old  Book,  your  honor — '  Love  your 
inimies,  do  good  to  them  that  hate  you' — and  more  of  the 
same  kind." 

"  But  bless  my  soul,  Peter,  you  don't  mean  that  we 
should  deal  with  these  British,  whom  you  have  been  so  long 
wishing  that  the  winds  would  blow  high  and  dry,  according 
to  the  good  Book,  do  you  ?" 

Peter  had  to  turn  his  quid  over  and  chew  a  little  on 
it,  for  he  remembered  having  indulged  some  rather  un 
generous  feelings — especially  towards  his  blockading  friends. 

"  It  is  hard,  I  allow,  as  your  honor  very  well  knows,  to 
make  a  man's  conscience  always  jibe  right  when  encounter 
ing  an  inimy  to  one's  self,  or  thinking  of  one  that  is  dear  to 
us  that  may  be  like  to  git  into  their  clutches ;  but  when  a 
man  can  catch  a  chance  to  show  a  little  Christian  spirit  to 
wards  them  that  seek  his  hurt,  whether  it  be  inimies  to  one's 
country  or  inimies  to  one's  self,  it  will  be  better,  as  I  take  it, 
in  the  long  run,  your  honor,  and  at  the  last  reckoning,  that 
we  should  do  so." 

"  Well,  well,  Peter,  it  is  getting  late,  and  you  must  be 
pretty  well  tired  to-day,  you  had  better  turn  in." 

"  Many  thanks  to  your  honor,  and  a  long  life " 


324  JAMES  MONTJOY;   OR, 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

TIME  is  not  only  a  destroyer ;  he  is  a  healer  too.  Sor 
row  and  joy  attend  his  flight ;  and  each  in  turn  com 
mands  the  passing  hour.  The  family  of  Mr.  Rutherford  had 
laid  aside  the  badges  of  mourning  which,  in  token  of  re 
spect  for  the  memory  of  one  they  loved,  they  had  put  on 
when  William  Andrews  died.  The  scene  at  his  bedside  had 
been  ratified  in  secret,  and  Henry  Tracy  felt  every  day 
more  and  more  satisfied  with  the  one  he  had  chosen.  There 
was  some  little  stir  indeed  when  it  was  known  abroad,  and 
some  even  hinted  the  idea  that  he  had  stooped  a  little  in 
taking  one  situated  as  Hettie  had  been;  but  none  who 
really  knew  her  ever  thought  so.  She  was  a  bright  star, 
dimmed  awhile  by  clouds,  and  now  to  shine  in  her  true, 
simple  splendor ;  her  husband's  heart,  her  husband's  home, 
and  the  circle  over  which  his  care  rested,  were  now  to  feel 
her  sweet  and  heavenly  influence. 

The  pressure  of  trouble  had  done  its  bidden  work  upon 
the  views  and  habits  of  Mr.  Rutherford ;  and  then,  by  the 
same  kind  hand  which  brought  it,  was  it  taken  off.  The 
recovery  of  his  deed  at  once  placed  him  in  possession  of 
wealth ;  the  immense  value  of  the  tract  of  timber  was  daily 
becoming  more  evident,  and  he  was  in  a  few  months  enabled 
to  commence  the  joyful  duty  of  liquidating  the  claim  upon 
his  homestead.  He  had  resolved,  in  time,  to  rebuild  upon 
the  ruins  of  his  former  house ;  but  prudence  was  his  watch 
word  now,  and  until  every  cent  of  the  claim  was  cancelled,  he 
resolved  to  remain  in  his  present  situation.  He  was,  how 
ever,  for  a  few  months  occupying  the  beautiful  mansion  of 
Commodore  Trysail,  at  the  special  request  of  the  latter,  who 
was  about  to  leave  for  the  south,  where  he  and  his  lady 
expected  to  remain  some  time. 

The  pretty  parsonage,  which  has  been  so  long  waiting  for 
an  occupant,  is  at  last  full  of  life  and  bustle.  The  windows 
have  been  opened  for  some  days,  and  lively  young  ladies  are 
seen  brushing  about  in  all  directions  through  the  house. 
Curtains  are  putting  up  and  carpets  putting  down,  bedsteads 
are  coming  together,  and  large  flat  beds  are  lying  about  in 
readiness  to  be  put  upon  them ;  piles  of  chairs,  tied  together 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  325 

two  and  two,  are  waiting  to  be  released  ;  and  crates,  boxes, 
and  baskets,  all  well  filled,  are  being  broken  open  and  pulled 
to  pieces,  while  from  them  is  borne  off  by  nimble  hands  and 
feet  all  sorts  of  every  thing,  to  be  arranged  according  to 
their  different  uses. 

In  the  mean  time  there  is  a  great  stir  at  Mr.  Ruther- 
ford's.  Old  ladies  and  young  ones  have  been  much  together 
there  of  late  ;  vast  quantities  of  needles  and  pins  and  silk 
and  thread  have  been  in  requisition ;  and  then  the  old 
family  recipe-book  has  been  for  days  lying  on  the  large 
kitchen  table,  with  heaps  of  flour  and  butter  alongside  of  it, 
and  busy  hands  have  been  violently  engaged  beating  insides 
of  eggs,  and  taking  out  the  insides  of  raisins,  and  stewing 
things  together  in  all  sorts  of  ways  ;  while  at  times  a  most  sa 
vory  smell  would  escape  to  the  upper  stories,  enough  to  set  all 
the  old  women  and  young  children  running  down  stairs. 

At  length  the  meaning  of  all  this  bustle  is  unfolded.  A 
wedding  day  has  come.  Henry  Tracy  has  been  putting  his 
pretty  cottage  in  readiness  to  receive  the  lovely  maiden  who 
has  consented  to  be  its  mistress  ;  and  Hettie  Brown,  with 
the  aid  of  her  companions,  and  under  the  care  of  Mrs.  Ruth 
erford,  has  been  making  preparations  suitably  to  honor  the 
hour  when  she  yields  herself  in  holy  wedlock  to  the  man 
she  loves. 

It  has  been  a  busy  day  with  the  family  of  Mr.  Ruther 
ford  from  early  dawn  until  near  its  close  ;  and  now,  as  eve 
ning  approaches,  lights  are  seen  glistening  from  every  win 
dow  in  the  large  building,  and  through  the  wide  hall,  flitting 
like  fairies,  finely  dressed  young  ladies  are  passing  and  re- 
passing,  and  going  up  and  down  with  light  and  joyous  steps, 
as  though  Pleasure  had  come  down  and  shed  her  quickening 
charm  upon  them  all.  Carriages  of  various  kinds  are  land 
ing  groups  of  young  and  old,  and  then  driving  off  with 
speed.  Attendants  at  the  door  in  neat  array,  are  leading 
the  new  comers  to  the  various  rooms  assigned  for  their  re 
ception.  For  a  while  confusion  seems  to  reign  ;  then  all 
subsides  to  quiet.  The  joyous  laugh  and  the  lively  call  are 
hushed,  and  within  the  spacious  parlor  have  all  assembled 
who  are  to  be  the  witnesses  of  the  solemn  rite.  Dazzling 
with  lights,  scattered  profusely  round,  and  trimmed  with 
evergreens  and  early  flowers,  it  seems  a  fairy  bower ;  while, 
circling  tho  room,  the  well-dressed  guests,  with  staid  and 


326  JAMES   MONTJOY  J    OR 

even  solemn  faces,  are  whispering  to  each  other,  or  eyeing 
with  curious  gaze  the  beautiful  festoons  that  grace  the  win 
dows  or  sweep  across  the  lofty  ceiling. 

Within  the  centre  of  the  room  stands  the  bridal  altar, 
covered  with  the  finest  gauze,  whose  delicate  folds  reached  to 
the  floor,  and  around  whose  top  a  wreath  of  flowers  confines 
the  plaited  drapery,  making  a  beautiful  finish,  neat  and  unos 
tentatious.  Within  this  rim  reposes  a  crown  of  purest  white, 
a  wreath  of  exquisite  workmanship,  prepared  by  one  who 
wishes  to  honor  an  occasion  in  which  her  heart  deeply  sym 
pathizes,  not  only  for  the  joys  in  which  she  herself  has  revel 
led  while  tasting  the  sweets  of  wedded  life  ;  but  also  for  the 
love  she  bears  the  happy  maiden  who  is  now  to  be  separated 
from  her,  that  she  may  bless  another  spot  on  earth  and  make 
another  home. 

Beside  this  little  altar  sits  the  holy  man,  clad  in  his  silken 
vestments,  prepared  to  tie  the  sacred  knot  and  bless  the  nup 
tial  pair.  The  bridegroom,  attended  by  his  chosen  friends, 
James  and  Edward  Montjoy  and  Captain  Oakum,  now  enter 
and  take  their  station,  all  neatly  apparelled  fitting  the  oc 
casion.  Henry  is  arrayed  in  the  richest  style  which  his  pro 
fession  will  allow ;  his  hair  is  slightly  powdered,  and  his 
perfect  form  is  well  displayed  by  his  neat  and  costly  dress. 
Almost  immediately  following  his  entrance,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Rutherford  appear  bearing  between  them  the  lovely  bride. 
Every  eye  is  fastened  with  intense  interest  upon  the  beauti 
ful  maiden.  She  is  richly  apparelled,  but  without  ornament 
of  any  kind,  except  a  band  of  pearls  that  encircles  her  fore 
head,  and  is  hidden  beneath  the  obstinate  curls  which  lie 
in  rich  profusion  on  her  neck  and  shoulders.  Her  brides 
maids  follow,  and  as  the  train  approaches  the  altar,  the 
reverend  clergyman  rises,  and  Henry  Tracy  steps  slightly 
forward.  Mr.  Rutherford  then  taking  Hettie  by  the  hand, 
thus  addresses  him : 

"  Mr.  Tracy,  it  is  with  feelings  of  no  common  interest 
that  I  now  present  to  you  the  hand  of  this  much-loved 
maiden.  Knowing  her  as  I  do,  sir,  I  cannot  but  feel  that  she 
is  a  gift  of  no  common  value ;  and  I  most  truly  believe  that 
you  appreciate  its  worth.  One  small  mistake  I  must  correct, 
however,  before  the  bonds  are  clasped  that  will  unite  you 
for  ever.  You  have  supposed,  when  you  were  taking  this 
maiden  as  your  companion,  that  she  was  a  poor  and  portion- 


I'VE   BEEN   THINKING.  327 


less  girl.  There,  sir,  is  a  paper,  which  I  lay  upon  this  table, 
which  endows  her  with  enough  to  smooth  your  path  through 
life,  and  which  will  enable  you,  with  her  you  love,  to  ward  off 
distracting  care.  May  God  bless  you  both." 

A  moment  Henry  is  at  fault ;  this  is  a  scene  in  the  cere 
mony  he  has  not  anticipated.  It  is  however  but  a  moment ; 
he  reaches  forth  his  hand,  and  receives  that  of  the  blushing, 
almost  weeping  Hettie : 

"  Words  cannot  express,  sir,  the  emotion  which  now  swells 
my  bosom.  I  take  her  as  a  rich  gift ;  the  greatest  earthly 
boon  my  heart  can  ask  ;  and  all  that  your  kindness  has  added 
with  her  will  ever  be  a  token  to  us  both  how  much  we  owe  to 
you  and  yours." 

Soon  the  solemn  vows  are  passed,  and  in  the  name  of  the 
sacred  Three  they  are  pronounced  husband  and  wife. 

Mrs.  Rutherford  then  steps  to  the  altar,  and  taking  the 
beautiful  wreath,  places  it  on  the  head  of  the  bride,  and  gives 
her  the  bridal  kiss. 

One  wedding  it  is  said  leads  to  another.  Whether  this 
is  so  or  not,  I  cannot  say ;  but  the  signs  are  ominous ;  for 
James  Montjoy  and  Mary  Oakum  take  long  walks  by 
moonlight,  and  Sam  spends  every  evening  at  General 
Morris's,  and  other  tokens  tell  plainly  what  things  are 
coming  to. 

But  the  long  road  which  I  and  my  readers  have  tra 
velled  together,  must  here  end :  are  you  not  glad  of  it  ? 


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